


Reversal of Shadows

by aguardian



Series: Of Shadows [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AC Brotherhood, AC2, Florence | Firenze, Gen, Monteriggioni, Rome | Roma, San Gimignano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguardian/pseuds/aguardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Threatened by a direct attack on their maestro, those who once paraded the streets now mimic the eagles that they hunt, and take instead to the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing the process of migrating my old works. This was written before any of the works I've posted previously, so the style's a little different.
> 
> Also written before the release of _Brotherhood_ , so though it involves two multiplayer characters, their personalities and stories drastically differ from their in-game ones.

The crowd on the streets parted easily before him, and though barely a flicker of emotion showed on his heavily shaded face, Ezio inwardly admitted that he was a little pleased. Those that glanced in his direction, their eyes alighting on him for barely more than a second, bore expressions varying between pleasant recognition to blatantly expressed fear, with only scattered cases of indifference among them. Rare was the Florentine who had never seen the silent, hooded figure, or had not at least heard the breathed mention of _l'ombra bianco_. Rarer still were those who wished to get in his way.

It was something of a comfort to return to a familiar city, assured by the presence of nearby allies and of enemies who were eager to turn a blind eye to the swirling black cape, even if it passed directly before them, rather arrogantly flashing the red and gold Auditore crest into their fearful eyes. The Templars' hold had weakened here it seemed, with most of the guards valuing their lives over the meager coin supplied to them.

They had come to dread this man that bore the same mark of tattered banners that fluttered over the long-abandoned  _palazzo_  in the center of the city, that building that had stood empty but untouched for years, protected as it was by cowled phantoms. Other than this, not mere days ago, word had spread quickly and had only deepened their fear, for what chance did a humble soldier have against the fabled  _Assassino_  who had broken through the Vatican's elite and threatened the Pope himself?

At the memory of his last mission, Ezio frowned a little, distractedly brushing a hand against his side and feeling the bandages under his crimson sash. He was unsure how he had made it out of  _Roma_  with the stab wound in his flank, but he was rather grateful to reach a city where there was little need to mask his movements, protected as he was here by his reputation. The rather hasty bandages had held until  _Firenze_ , but he decided not to risk making the rest of the trip back to his villa without rest and proper treatment.

Though he was tired from his constant travel over the past few days, he realized that he still felt eager to run, to move, as if a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. The eagle of him stretched unused wings, fluttering impatient feathers and almost demanding to be allowed to reach the sky. The Assassin glanced rather longingly towards the edge of one building, dark brown eyes already mapping a possible route to the roof, but he restrained himself, if a little bitterly. This wound at his ribs was causing him more annoyance than pain.

It was a breach in his usually careful tactics, but for once, he decided to go to one of the city's local doctors. For wounds as serious as the one he had parted the Vatican with, he had always asked treatment from Leonardo, or from Monteriggioni's resident physician, so as not to risk a drop of guard in an area as exposed as the streets. However, if it meant him regaining the ability to run freely a little sooner, he would risk it just this once.

The people around him were generally giving him a wide berth, thus Ezio easily picked up on the presence at his back, following him a few steps behind. He cocked his head slightly, peering around the edge of his hood and managing to catch a flash of violet eyes. Smirking a little in recognition, he slowed his pace, not turning around but companionably matching the steps of the older man tailing him.

"You are announcing your presence to the entire city by wearing that,  _signore_  Ezio," la Volpe commented lightly, evidently studying the dark cut of cloth dangling from the younger Assassin's shoulder.

"I am not going to be ashamed of my father's colors, Volpe," he responded easily, only pausing to pass a shadowed glance towards a pair of city guards loitering by an alleyway, both of whom quickly remembered they were needed elsewhere.

"I was not suggesting you should," the fox sighed a little resignedly. "Only do not get too arrogant. How was  _Roma_?"

"I was able to get what I was searching for and more," Ezio answered, deciding to neglect mentioning the apparition he had seen in the vault. His uncle would be the first to hear of that. "Any news from Monteriggioni?"

"No, all has been quiet since you left. You may be interested to know that your old friend Leonardo is visiting _Firenze_ though. Mario evidently invited him to your villa while you were away. You should look for him before heading there yourself, he should keep you out of trouble for a while."

The Assassin began to ask innocently what that implied, before he realized that la Volpe had already left. He shook off the distraction, reminding himself to check the market district that his artist friend had favored when his workshop had still been centered here in Florence, knowing he had likely passed by here to collect fresh supplies for his stay in the Villa Auditore. He had not seen Leonardo in many months, not since the Forli incident last year, and was honestly looking forward to seeing him again.

"Ah, do you seek treatment,  _amico_?"

Ezio was a little startled at the sudden address, though he was careful to hide it as he turned towards the slightly muffled voice. A middle-aged man, as betrayed by his tone and build, beckoned him over from the entrance of one of the few indoor clinics in _Firenze_ , his beaked mask and dark, waxed cloak standing out amid the bright silks of the townspeople. Smiling good-naturedly, the Assassin approached, ducking into the shade of the front awning and speaking lightly, "Yes. I admit, I almost missed your shop. How did you know-?"

"I am a doctor,  _signore_ ," the man laughed, moving aside to allow the younger man in. "You hide it well, but a medic's eyes can see the slightest limp. An injury to your side, I take it?"

Ezio nodded, slightly impressed, moving to sit on the simple wooden bench that took up most of the clinic's interior and shifting his rapier and dagger out of the way. The room felt rather crowded, most of its narrow space filled by shelves of bandages, tinctures, and salves, but the doctor moved about it with ease.

"I was able to bandage it on the road, but it may open again. If you could please suture it, I will be on my way. I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Please don't tell me how to do my job," the doctor said gently, though Ezio's caught a hint of tightness in the tone, perhaps out of irritation. "Allow me to look at the wound first."

The nobleman shrugged, pulling off one sleeve of his doublet and pushing his shirt away to reveal the red-tinged bindings about his stomach. It was difficult to tell where the older man was looking due to the dark eyes of his mask, but he seemed to only glance at the bandages before reaching to the shelves behind him and sorting through his equipment.

"Ah yes, it must be quite serious if it is bleeding this much already," the doctor spoke, evidently thinking aloud as he lifted a narrow glass syringe up to eye level, checking the dosage. "I will give you some pain medication first, which should dull the ache when I suture it. Your arm, if you please."

Confused, Ezio did not move, only eying the injection with a measure of trepidation. "Is that really necessary? Pain means little to me, and besides, the wound is really not that wide," he said slowly, feeling his eagle hackle and shift its wings uneasily. He could not understand why he felt so troubled, his instincts reacting unusually strongly to a simple needle.

"Do not be difficult,  _signore_  Auditore," the doctor said patiently, firmly taking hold of the Assassin's right wrist and pulling it towards him. However, Ezio could feel it now, the deeply hidden aggression, the danger of an enemy flashing across his senses in a blood red.

"No. I think I've changed my mind," he growled out, wrenching his arm free before the sliver of metal could touch him and standing quickly. He backed out of the store, narrowed eyes not leaving the masked one as the other watched him go, unmoving and silent. Ezio turned swiftly on his heel as soon as he was clear of the clinic's walls, pulling his uniform back into place and leaving the district on clipped, outwardly agitated steps.

He glanced over his shoulder after he had walked a fair distance, forcibly evening his breathing as the adrenaline still burned through his blood. The narrowly dodged trap - if it had been one at all - had left him a little staggered, and he wondered absently if he was simply still paranoid, high-strung from his escape of the Vatican. Here, he had begun to allow a drop in his defenses, and so soon after, he had almost paid dearly for it.

Ezio slowed his pace, attempting to blend back into the shifting afternoon crowd, but only at this did he realize the feeling of unease had not left him, his spirit still keening a warning despite having left the clinic far behind. There were enemies around him, he knew, but their aura flickered unnaturally, fading and appearing as incorporeally as the wind. Instinctively, his gaze swept upwards, raking the tiled rooftops for some glimpse of the threat. A flash of gray that could have simply been a fluttered curtain was all that caught his attention, however it was quick to vanish, barely allowing him to focus on it before it was gone.

His scarred lip thinned into a scowl as he pushed abruptly past the innocents, retreating into the relative safety of an alleyway and leaning against the slightly warm, red bricks. This feeling, this consuming sense of vulnerability irritated the Assassin to no end, unfamiliar with it as he was. He, the Florentine eagle, was being  _hunted_.

Not only could he barely seem able to sense this new enemy, some of them appeared to have taken refuge in the roof edges and towers, the skies,  _his_ territory. The only route that now, with his hampering injury, he could not access. Ezio jerked his black cape more securely over his shoulder, taking his frustration out on the cloth as he took off at a brisk lope eastwards, keeping to the narrow backstreets instead of the main thoroughfares.

It was odd, he realized distractedly, keeping his head low and bowed, regaining the air of obscurity he had thought would not be necessary in  _Firenze_. He knew without a doubt that those set upon his trail were Templars. Once, it had been they who had been constantly sighted in the streets, flaunting their red crosses on chain mail and standards. But now, particularly after the great Burning, after the reign of Savonarola, it was the Assassins who were known to the commoners, trusted by most, though understandably feared by others. Perhaps it had been this that had driven the once-proud knights deep into the shades in which their enemies had once dwelt. A reversal of roles, perhaps. Or of shadows.


	2. Chapter 2

Ezio knew that an Assassin's ability to conceal oneself, to move in plain sight and vanish after a kill, was equally as important as wielding one's blade, but he would choose a head-on battle over hiding any day. This measure of blood thirst had gotten him into trouble on several instances, something his uncle never tired of pointing out and attempting to curb, but he held to the fact that it too had, on an equal amount of occasions, kept him alive.

This thought rang in his head as he finally paused for breath in the shade of an archway, thoroughly annoyed at the fact that the unseen enemies had forced him into flight. They had tailed him nearly clear across the city and back despite his attempts to lose them, always just at the edge of his vision. He sighted another flash of color overhead, and his eagle hissed in identical irritation, knowing that it could easily fell these Templars who so foolishly attempted to mimic raptors, if only it could reach them.

A lure. He needed to get them closer, to coax them down to the ground where his sword could reach their flesh. The Assassin smirked a little darkly. What better way to tempt a supposed predator than with blood, with a show of weakness? Heartened by the possibility of a direct fight, he glanced up, waiting for another glimpse of the enemy before he bolted, seeming to flee in barely contained panic from the circling crows.

His cape whipped out behind him like a tail as he ran, dodging skillfully through the afternoon crowd but frowning as he felt the half-scabbed wound on his flank stretch a little, protesting. He seriously needed to have it treated before it tore open again.

The hemming buildings around him spread out abruptly into an open space, and Ezio immediately recognized the neat arrangement of the  _Mercato Vecchio_ , the northern marketplace of the city. Perfect. He well knew the movements of these merchants, the methodical exchange between storeowner and customer flowing as easily and regularly as a stream. Any outsider, any hostile force, would stand out like a beacon in this organized throng.

Still holding the pretense of weakness, the Assassin concealed himself against the western edge of the market, slipping under cover between a shuttered merchant stand and a low-roofed building. He pressed against one wall, rather exaggerating his breathing and appearing outwardly exhausted, knowing and easily sensing the eyes upon him. With head bowed, he swept a shaded glare past the peak of his hood, searching for any advances, for movement towards him. Finally, he noticed a ripple, a shift in the crowd as a figure leapt lightly from a low hanging ledge and threaded quietly into the innocents. None paid him any heed, and this only served to mark him all the more clearly to the eagle's scrutinizing gaze.

Ezio hid a smirk as he too entered the push of the stream of commoners, weaving a slight unsteadiness into his step, as he headed for the far edge of the _mercato_. He had lost sight of the enemy but could still feel the presence, the shadow of bloodlust ghosting closer to him as he neared the center of the busily shifting crowd. The figure was at his elbow a little sooner than he expected, but still he did not move, feigning blindness right until he caught a flash of metal, the well-known glimmer of a blade. He was able to observe that the narrow knife materialized from the enemy's sleeve as if from nowhere and he snorted a little in derision as he noted its similarity to a hidden blade.

The Assassin reacted smoothly, half-turning and releasing his right wrist blade to catch the edge of the other's knife, stopping it before it buried into the small of his back. Both men froze in a stalemate, concealed blades locked, the people around them pushing past without realizing the brewing fight in their midst. Almost boredly, the nobleman glanced over his enemy, a man around his age shaded by a gray cape and hood.

Rather arrogantly, he smirked and asked quietly, "What's wrong, Templar? Have you and your kind run so low in ingenuity that you've resorted to parroting our tactics?"

The other's half-shadowed, dull blue eyes narrowed in a glare before he seemed to recover, attempting to remain impassive. "Your tactics?" he questioned coolly. "If you are referring to that cowardly Creed of yours, then you are mistaken. What kind of fool would willingly follow that self-righteous dogma you Assassins cling to so desperately? If you were not blinded by your illusion of  _righteousness_  and  _integrity_ , then perhaps you would actually be winning this war."

Ezio scowled, but before he could respond, his enemy pulled away suddenly, retreating a few steps and tucking his blade into a ready stance against his chest. "You think the people of this city see you as a force of justice, don't you?" the Templar sneered, a mocking coldness lacing his tone. "But a murderer is a murderer. You'd be surprised to see how quickly they turn on you."

He realized in that brief moment what was about to happen, and though he leapt forward to stop him, the comprehension came spare seconds too late. The gray-cloaked man lashed out suddenly, jabbing his switchblade to his left and right in quick succession and severing the life of a young lady and an elderly merchant who had been passing on either side of him. The Assassin's eyes widened helplessly as he watched the bodies grow limp, their expressions forever frozen upon him in blank surprise as scarlet spilled from their throats.

The Templar snatched at one of the collapsing bodies and threw it heavily against Ezio, staggering him and staining his cowl with blood. Flicking his blade out of sight, the enemy retreated, pointing and declaring in a tone wrought with false panic, " _Assassino_!"

The faces that turned to him, the many eyes filled with shock and disgust, with hatred and terror and rage, burned into his memory and Ezio took a slight step back, his heart heavy with misbegotten guilt. It was one thing to kill out of defense or retribution, but the weight of such pointless deaths swayed him, confusing him more than he had thought possible.  _Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent,_ the Creed seemed to cry to him, speaking in the voices of his ancestors.

A snarl twisted his lips as he flashed a furious glare at the cloaked man, but he had drawn back along with the rest of the crowd, the townspeople backing away and leaving the Assassin in an empty circle tainted with corpses and splashes of blood. A woman was screaming for someone to summon the guards, while others seemed to be rallying, gathering their courage to rush at him themselves and drive back the demon. He felt his eagle flutter, stock still from unfamiliarity of this penetrating sense of shame.

This time, Ezio knew he truly had no choice. He ran.

The market goers leapt away from him, avoiding him like the plague, like death itself, and he found this no longer brought him any amusement. As the _mercato_  vanished from sight behind him, he realized dully that the constant movement was doing little good for his injury. He gave a quiet growl as he turned a corner and stumbled against a group of people heading in the opposite direction, only just managing to catch himself against a wall to keep his balance. He staggered upright and pressed on, ignoring the pain as his chest burned from the pull of his wound and from the collecting exhaustion. It would not be long until his façade of weakness became truth.

The enemy presence following him persisted, swooping low overhead now and flashing into sight more frequently, taunting him. The figures moved too quickly for him to recognize or fix upon any of them, but he jerked a throwing knife from his belt nevertheless, lashing it out upwards towards one of the dancing shadows. He smiled grimly, rather shallowly, as he heard a quiet cry of pain and watched one silhouette fall.

As he sprinted through the streets he knew so well from his childhood, he abruptly recognized a narrow alleyway, a long, low-ceilinged passage between two buildings that few noticed even if they walked directly by it. He had regularly used this concealed shortcut in simpler times; slipping through it to gain an advantage in the races he and Federico had oft competed at. The memory tugged a sad smile from him as he ducked into the darkness, assured that this would allow him to escape Templar eyes, if only for a moment.

The walls enclosed him, causing his spirit to stir a little uneasily at the confined space, thus he hurried through, realizing absently that he had to stoop much lower than he had needed to when he had last used the alley. Had it really been so long since he had lived a normal life?

As he emerged back into the sunlight, dodging the stack of crates obscuring most of the opposite end of the passage, he found that at last he had shaken the enemy on his tail. He glanced over his shoulder, feeling their aura in the distance as they circled unsurely, attempting to find him. Ezio looked back forwards and came squarely face to face with a furling black banner, the cloth a little worn, but the eagle and stripes still flashing their colors proudly. The  _palazzo_ Auditore stood before him, looking no different from when he had last seen it, a relic of his past that stabbed him with a feeling of loss.

Frowning a little at his hampering nostalgia, he moved quickly, pushing past the half open, rather rusted iron-gate and entering the courtyard. The stones lay dusty and marked, lined with the shadows cast by the skeletons of dead wood, the plants that had once flourished under his mother's care. These old walls and brush would hide him well enough, he thought, forcing detachment.

The Assassin sank against a stone bench to the left of the entrance, shutting his eyes and listening for movement. He soon caught footsteps on the streets and on the rooftop and he scowled wordlessly, taking to heart the invasion into his family's home but tamping down the rising, quite foolish need to drive the Templars from it. Determinedly restraining his eagle spirit, he waited. He was out of sight underneath the shade of the building's second floor, thus he was not surprised when the enemy finally moved on, deciding to search elsewhere.

Ezio paused several more minutes before climbing to his feet, feeling an unfamiliar fatigue in his legs. He would not be safe here for long, he thought wearily, pressing a hand to a cool marble pillar as he peered carefully out through the metal-wrought whorls and crescents of the front gate, checking for nearby guards.  _La Rosa Colta_  would surely offer him sanctuary and rest—for that indeed was what  _bordello_  specialized at—but it was clear across the city, at the far northern wall he had left less than an hour ago. If only he had simply fled the market in the opposite direction.

He wavered unsurely at the gate, torn between action and stillness, both of which had little promise of safety. However, before he could decide, a shuffle of movement behind him nearly made him jump, startling him enough to pivot swiftly, both wrist blades extended. Upon seeing no one, he straightened cautiously, brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced about the deserted courtyard. It took a few moments to realize that the sound had come from within the house, from his father's office.

Scowling at the thought of thieves or scavengers, Ezio held one blade at the ready as he pulled open the wood doorway with his free hand, stirring the dust at his feet and only just realizing that he could see the mark of fresh footsteps against the stones, indicating the presence of another. Silently, he slipped into the unevenly shadowed room, noticing that some of the heavy curtains had been pulled back to let in a measure of sunlight.

He took a few paces into the seemingly empty room, head swiveling as he attempted to hone in on the sound of light scuffling that echoed eerily in the abandoned  _palazzo_. However, the noise halted abruptly, as if the other had sensed his presence, and the Assassin tensed. He all too quickly found that he did not have long to wait. A sudden voice spoke out loudly, reverberating in the enclosed space and thoroughly startling him, unbalancing his stance as he felt arms latch about his throat from behind.


	3. Chapter 3

If it had taken more than a split second for him to recognize the voice, if there had been just a little more room for him to move his blade arm, the Assassin would have regretted his next action for the rest of his life. As it was, though he lifted his wrist blade to stab backwards into his attacker, he realized just in time that the arms around his neck were neither attempting to strangle nor restrain him, and knew why his eagle had not warned him of the presence.

He sighed and retracted the knife, lowering his arm to his side. "It's dangerous to scare me like that, Leonardo."

The artist released him, allowing the other to turn around and see a measure of apology in the bright blue eyes. "I'm sorry,  _amico mio_ , it's just been so long," Leonardo said with a smile, grasping his friend at the shoulders and peering into his face past the hood. "You look different."

Ezio could not keep back a small, returning grin. "And you look the same. The year has been kind to you."

A flicker of hesitance showed in the older man's face, and the Assassin looked at him in slight puzzlement.

"Well, yes, if anything at least, a lot has happened," the inventor said with rather forced nonchalance, releasing Ezio and turning back to the book case he had evidently been going through.

"Leonardo. What's going on?" he questioned seriously, unused to the drastically dulled enthusiasm in his friend's voice. "Or at least to begin with, what are you doing in my house?"

"Ah, that's an easy one," Leonardo said with a gentle smile, not looking away from the scattering of books that had long been left on the tall shelves. "I am just answering a request from your uncle—a few documents needed to be recovered from here, nothing too important, but still quite inconvenient if in the wrong hands. As for the reason why he asked this of me... that one is a little bit more difficult."

Ezio cocked his head at him, perching upon the edge of the desk as he watched him search. "I have time. Please don't leave me in the dark,  _amico_."

"Yes, yes, of course not," the artist said absently, pulling several volumes from the cabinet with a sense of finality and setting them on the table next to his friend. The Assassin watched him with a measure of concern as the other placed his palms upon the desk; head bowed slightly, he evidently choosing his words carefully. "You remember Niccolo Machiavelli?"

A short nod. "The Assassin who aided us in the Battle of Forli, yes."

"He approached me last year, a little bit after you visited me in  _Venezia_  with that odd artifact of yours. He too came to me for... a favor."

"Don't sound so solemn, Leonardo," Ezio said with a slight teasing smirk, though inwardly he admitted he was a little worried at the stiff tone. "You make it seem as if such a large weight has been placed upon your shoulders."

The baleful blue gaze that looked towards him stung more than the bite of a blade, and the Assassin immediately regretted his words.

"You are not the only one who has been busy these past months _,_ " Leonardo responded quietly.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, sincerely; eager to apologize despite not fully understanding what the circumstances were. "Please, continue."

There was still reluctance in the other's tone as he paced a few steps away, not quite meeting Ezio's gaze. "…You trust me,  _amico mio_?"

"Of course," the Assassin answered firmly, though completely confused as to where this was going. "It is still as I said to you in  _Venezia_  a few years ago. I have known you for a long time; if I can't trust you, there is no one."

Leonardo let out a quiet breath and moved to sit across from him in an armchair by the door, the words seeming to solidify his decision. "I have taken on a job that few can actually consider honorable. Several months ago, Niccolo asked me to accompany him into the enemy's ranks as a spy," he spoke flatly, the words coming in a rushed breath as if he wished to throw them from himself in disgust. "I have been working for the Templars for almost a year now."

The Assassin stared at him, disbelief etched across his features, before he blurted, "But that's ridiculous. I've been grateful for all your help, Leonardo, but there's no reason for you to put yourself in such danger for a cause that barely concerns you-"

"Doesn't it?" the artist challenged, meeting his eyes with a solid determination. "You are my friend, Ezio. Do you know how difficult it is to have you disappear, sometimes for years at a time, and not know whether you are alive or dead? At least this way, I am making myself useful while you are away. I may not be a warrior like you, but I can take care of myself. Though… already, I have done many things I regret."

The nobleman continued to frown at him, hearing the shallowly hidden hurt in his friend's voice, and realizing it pained him as well. "But this is not you," he persisted quietly, unable to imagine the gentle painter as anything more than that.

"Perhaps not a year ago, but by now I have accepted it," Leonardo said in a measured voice, finally seeming to regain his calm. "Besides, it has provided us with a lot of information. For example, the reason  _Signore_  Mario asked me to remove these documents from your house. We suspect the Templars are planning a siege of  _Firenze;_  for they have been channeling men and resources into the  _Toscana_  countryside for months now, allocating them for the building of siege towers and cannons. It won't be long before they launch their attack."

"Yes, I  _did_  notice a sudden increase in Templar agents around the city," Ezio acknowledged, brow furrowing slightly at the memory. "I only just got away from them, actually."

"Were they the ones who injured you?"

"No, it's more of a parting gift from the Spaniard, actually—wait, what?"

"The wound in your side. Are you seriously attempting to hide it from  _me_ , Ezio?" Leonardo asked with wry amusement, standing and retrieving an armful of medical supplies from his bag in one corner of the room.

"Yes, well, I can't seem to hide it from anyone today," Ezio said, grinning and obligingly beginning to shed aside his uniform to allow the painter to look at the injury.

There was a stretched silence as Leonardo busily began undoing the bandages around his chest, the other meanwhile attempting not to flinch as the cloth pulled at the half-formed scab. Outwardly, the artist seemed to be reacting as normal, examining his flank with the easy expertise of a self-trained medic and all the while murmuring of previously studied anatomy, remembering the position of human vitals in order to assess the wound's extent. However, the Assassin felt his eagle spirit keen, sensing the other's masked unease.

"You're still not telling me everything, Leonardo," the Assassin said carefully, keeping still but eying the other as he watched him work.

Leonardo did not answer him for a span before he finally sighed, absently tugging at the thread he was using to suture the wound closed. "I'm sorry,  _amico mio_ , I don't mean to hide things from you. It's just that there has been something on my mind for the past few days, but I do not want to sound as if I'm complaining."

"Don't hold back," Ezio said seriously. "You've done so much for me already, the least I can do is listen to your troubles."

A small smile finally graced the artist's face at this, and he drew back decisively as he finished stitching and binding the injury. "Thank you, Ezio, but you are being too kind. If only you knew what I have done-"

"What can be worse than almost daily taking others' lives and blood?" he countered, though his tone was light.

"Yes, I suppose so. But it is just… it was I who designed the siege weapons for the Templars," Leonardo said rather rigidly, firmly meeting the other's dark eyes as if awaiting judgment. "I gave them plans for towers, artillery, and cannons, among other things. In effect,  _I_  was the one that caused this danger to your hometown. The innocent blood shed during the siege will be on my hands."

Ezio straightened, pulling his shirt and doublet back on so he could stand and face the artist directly. "You are assuming that I will allow the siege to take place at all," he spoke with an easy smile, reaching out and firmly gripping the other's shoulder. "I promise you, I will not allow them to ever use those weapons against  _Firenze_. Remember, the city is still on our side; they will first need to turn its people against the Assassins. After Paola and Volpe lead the revolt against Savonarola, their debt to us won't be so easily forgotten."

Leonardo seemed to relax visibly at this, and the Assassin was relieved to see the brightness return to his friend's eyes. "Yes, you're right of course. I am worrying too much."

The nobleman released him, lifting his hood back into place. "I need to leave now,  _amico_ , but please don't travel to Monteriggioni until I come find you, all right?"

"I will wait," Leonardo answered with a nod, picking up the handful of books he had taken from the study's shelves. "Look for me at my old workshop. It has been rented out to another by now, but they have allowed me to lodge with them for a few days. Just… stay safe, Ezio."

The Assassin gave him a carefree smirk in response, wordlessly assuring him. "I will see you later, Leonardo."

He moved deeper into the  _palazzo_  rather than going out the front door, knowing of the concealed passage behind the fireplace in the building's second floor. The old, blackened wood that had been left in the dry fireplace rolled onto the carpet as Ezio pressed a gloved hand to one of the marble tiles framing it, releasing the hidden door's mechanism. The smell of damp and must was strong here, but he plunged through it all the same, reminded of the many Assassins' tombs he had searched over the years.

It wasn't long until he emerged into the streets, brushing off a few spider webs that had caught on his cowl in the narrow passageway. He could not sense any nearby enemies, but he knew they were out there, scattered throughout his city. He eyed the building across from him and took its wall at a run, lip pulling back in a small, feral grin as he finally loosed his eagle to the hunt.


	4. Chapter 4

Ezio climbed up over the edge of the roof, thoroughly relieved as he felt the stitches at his side holding despite the drastic movements. He knew that it was not recommended to move around this much despite the treatment, but his eagle spirit was impatient, eager to repay the Templars in kind for taunting him a few hours earlier.

The wind brushed against him, swirling his cape back as he crouched perched on the banister of a high balcony, surveying the people passing below. However, much to his irritation, though he swept his Vision across the entire span of the well-populated  _Santa Trinita_  church courtyard, not the slightest spark of a hostile aura flamed out of the crowd. This seemed quite ironic, for now that he wished to face these false Assassins, there were none to be found.

He glanced towards the roof of the small cathedral, seeing only a lone archer patrolling the stretch of its gently sloped tiles, the barest of threats. But at the sight of the easy target, he straightened thoughtfully, balancing on the narrow marble railing and touching a hand to the mechanism set against his left arm. It was a rather dangerous move, one that he could already hear his uncle reprimanding, but he knew it would attract the Templars like vultures to carrion.

In a flash of white and streaked black, he leapt easily towards the bell tower across from him, careful to keep its wide girth between him and the church's only sentry. His gloved hands fit easily between the narrowest catches of brick and tapered windowsill, providing an easy path straight up until the peak of the structure.

Once there, he slid and locked the mechanism pressed to his forearm, raising the limb and bracing one foot against the metal cross behind him. The shot that rang out spread its effect in a wave, the bullet felling the archer with a clean strike through his back, and the roar of the discharge startling all those around. Ezio drew back easily, evading the rather alarmed faces that turned towards the church tower as they tried and failed to catch the source of the horrific noise.

He leaned against the cool iron behind him, nonchalantly reloading the small pistol as he waited. Though he was sure none in the courtyard had seen even the slightest glimpse of his white uniform, he knew that his enemies were likely well versed in his weaponry and tactics. In time, word would spread, and they would come.

The response was slower than he thought and he frowned as the seconds stretched into minutes, his eagle spirit hampering him, thirsting for blood. The Assassin began to consider a second shot, one fired purely to call attention this time, when a flickered disturbance of air caught his attention. He pivoted around smoothly; dodging behind the metal cross he had been leaning against and hearing the resounding clatter as the knife deflected against its gilded surface.

As the narrow silver fell and came to a quivering halt embedded in a wooden beam, Ezio calmly took a few steps to the edge, almost immediately catching sight of the cross-marked gray cloak and the arm of its wearer that was still raised from the strike. Both pairs of shaded eyes met, the gray-blue ones narrowing in annoyance, and the darkened brown lighting with a mocking smirk. Ezio considered answering with a throwing knife of his own, but he did not wish to endanger the townspeople, wary as he was now of this Templar's lowly tactics.

Instead, he looked straight upon his enemy and spread his arm to one side in an invitation, a sardonic bow, before blatantly turning his back on him. He jumped rather carelessly in the opposite direction, casting himself out into open air towards the streets behind the church. He caught the edge of a nearby line stretched between the rooftops as he plummeted, feeling it bend precariously under his weight, but absorb enough of his momentum to allow him to swing from it and land lightly on his feet. Without waiting for his pursuers, who were indeed beginning to gather around him like scavengers, like so many jackals, the Assassin took off at a sprint again, moving east.

This was strike and run now, a tactic his eagle well enjoyed, taking wing and honing in on the Templars mixed into the innocents with the briefest glance. The enemy hesitated at first; lingering at the edges of his vision as they had done earlier, but no longer did Ezio remain passive at their presence. He lashed out wherever possible, flicking daggers up to the rooftops every time an opening in the crowd allowed it, or brushing against those in the street, leaving them staggering and clutching the holes pierced through their chests.

Realizing his aggression whether or not they attacked him, the Templars began to take the initiative, throwing themselves at him in turn. Some foolishly attempted to rush him from behind, while others—a little cleverer, but not quite enough—emerged abruptly from alleyways and thick crowds, trying to catch him off guard. They were too careless, all of them. Each fell to his blade, barely slowing him as the Assassin plunged and retracted his hidden blades in a myriad of directions, meeting them face to face no matter the angle they attempted, swiftly but precisely cutting through their ranks.

Thus he moved, never pausing for more than a breath, his spirit keening eagerly, caught up in the thrill of the hunt. However, even as he dodged people and blades in equal measure, Ezio realized that he was a little surprised that none of the Templars he felled bore armor, with most dressed only in common silks and cloth to pass off as nobles or doctors, bankers or priests. He frowned at the carelessness of their tactics, wondering.

The road he was running through opened up abruptly into a fine courtyard, and the Assassin glanced upwards at the  _Duomo_ , feeling its gently smothering presence loom over him like a brooding hen. He had just run out of throwing knives, thus reaching this open area was quite conveniently timed. If the enemy still wished to reach him—though there was a great chance they no longer desired to—they would need to come down into the streets, amongst the crowd.

Pulling in a clipped breath, he slowed his pace, easing into a walk as he headed for the center of the courtyard and ignoring the glances passed in his direction. He realized he was more surprised than tired from the clash, never having been in such an extensive, heated battle that had swept through unnoticed by the townspeople. He had never thought it was possible for so many to die with barely a reaction from those around them, deserving as they were of it or not.

Ezio's recollections drew to a standstill though as he caught sight of the man in the gray cloak, only now remembering that this particular Templar had not sought to attack him after his failed attempt at the  _Santa Trinita_. A wise choice, he thought dismissively. Or perhaps not so wise, given he was still following him despite knowing the danger of its consequences.

Easily, the Assassin paused, meeting the other's eyes as he approached him head on, the first brave enough—or foolish enough—to do so. "Do you seek another conversation?" he asked calmly, not bothering to hide a rather mocking grin. "That seems to be all you can do, play around with words. None of your faltering attempts to kill me even came close."

"Actually, I have realized that I do not even need to raise my blade to end you," the Templar answered smoothly. "You are digging your own grave, Assassin."

Ezio frowned, running a finger over the release mechanism of his left hidden blade and seriously considering just silencing the Templar before he wove any more words. However, he conceded, there was no threat of the man escaping, and he could possibly gain more information by talking to him. Provoking this one to speak would not be difficult.

"Perhaps you did not notice, but it is  _your_  brothers' bodies that litter the streets," he spoke, his tone steely. "I would say I am the one who holds the advantage here."

His enemy's lip curled in an answering smirk. "Not only are you so foolishly bringing about your own death, you do not even realize it," he chuckled, pacing a few steps to the side and prompting the Assassin to turn to keep him in sight. "You are more than pathetic."

"If you truly think so, attack me," Ezio goaded, dark eyes narrowing as he watched him circle. "I'm sure I should be no problem the way you speak of me."

"I reiterate. I do not need to," the cloaked one said easily, pausing a moment to glance about at the commoners around them, most of whom were giving the two a rather wide berth. "Do you think these people are idiots, Ezio Auditore?"

The Assassin scowled but did not answer, wondering briefly if the enemy was simply asking pointless questions to distract him while his comrades closed around him in a trap. However, his eagle was silent, focused only on this one before him and knowing that, for some unspoken reason, the others were keeping their distance.

Undeterred, the Templar hunter continued. "If you claim otherwise, let me ask you this. Do you realize that you have killed more than a score of 'innocents' in the past few minutes alone?"

At this statement, Ezio could not help but snap out angrily, "They were Templars. Far from innocent."

"And how did you know that? Do they look like Templars?" he questioned tauntingly. "Or did they perhaps loudly declare their allegiances as they approached you?"

"No. Unlike you, I do not need a blatant invitation to know who my enemies are," the Assassin ground out, flexing the fingers of his left hand rather agitatedly. "They may have tried to dress like commoners, but anyone could sense their aggression."

"Exactly. You Assassins speak of sense and instinct, ever relying on that Eagle's Vision of yours. The deaths may make sense in your eyes, but how do you think the masses of Firenze feel, finding corpses of their supposed fellow townsmen littering their streets?" the enemy paused in his pacing now, his smirk widening as he took in Ezio's stone-like expression. "Again, I pose the question: do you think they are idiots? They may not see you commit the act, but your blade is distinctive, your technique unmistakable. Mindless sheep as they are, they know without a doubt that the blood is on your hands."

At this point, Ezio could say nothing, hearing truth but struggling with it, his spirit rejecting. He ducked his head in outward indecision, allowing the shade of his hood to mask his snarl as he silently released his wrist blade.

"Can you not see it in their eyes, Assassin?" the Templar pressed, pushing his advantage. "They do not respect you, they  _hate_  you. Their fear keeps them at bay for now, but as soon as they see one of their own rise against you, their resolve will be set."

He did not allow the cloaked man to speak any further. The eagle lashed forward in a single, smooth motion, his hidden blade lancing towards the other's neck as if to cut the words from his throat. However, the Templar was ready, and rather abruptly, he lunged forward into him, snatching at his left wrist to ward off the blade and driving an elbow heavily against his chest. They fell back, both of them, hitting the courtyard in a tangled flurry of cloth and stirred leaves.

Ezio growled aloud and kicked out, catching his enemy in the ribs and staggering him, driving him back enough to allow him to roll over and gain his feet in a crouch. He reached out, grabbing onto the edge of the gray hood to keep his enemy still as he drew back his wrist blade for a second attempt.

However, even before he could strike, a powerful grip wrapped around his arm from behind, hands latching onto his shoulder and elbow to hinder his attack. "That's enough,  _diavolo_!" a male voice demanded from behind him, jerking hard against his sleeve to pull him back. Instinctively, the Assassin released the cloak and reached behind instead, clutching firmly onto the other enemy's arm. He pivoted, rather effortlessly unbalancing the second man and throwing him against the ground next to the cloaked Templar.

He straightened, both wrist blades extended now, when he realized in shock that the man he had just driven into the ground was no more than a common merchant, an  _innocent_ , his aura lighting up in his eagle's eyes as no more than a petty threat. Swayed, he took a step back, only to find more hands reaching out, gripping at handfuls of his uniform in attempts to hold him, to keep him still.

"Don't let him get away! Someone fetch the guards before he escapes!"

Upon hearing the threat, Ezio hastily twisted free, stumbling a few steps back into the central courtyard to pull away from the suddenly incited crowd, completely torn between defending himself and keeping his Creed. The braver of the men pursued him as he backed away, the others forming a quivering but resolute wall to block any hopes of flight. He flickered his gaze across the angered faces, his stance tense as he wavered, hesitant. He could do nothing, struck into stillness, an eagle snared by the very ones he had sworn to protect.


	5. Chapter 5

The nobleman was suddenly quite aware of the number of people present in the courtyard, their smothering presence now an obstacle rather than a benefit and their almost synchronized movements exposing instead of hiding him. It was as if the very environment itself had turned against him, removing one of his greatest advantages against his enemies.

There were scattered jeers from the crowd around him, but most were silent, unmoving and determined as stone, anxious of how the fabled Assassin would react to them. Seeing their hesitance, Ezio decisively retracted both his hidden blades, focusing his attention instead on the men closing in on him, the immediate threat. He clenched his fists, every fiber of him tensed and agitated. He was trapped, he knew. Caged by a wall of living flesh that he simply refused to rend. This fight would be far from easy.

As he watched, standing straight and stock still, the boldest of the crowd began to fan out around him, all of them unarmed but formidable nonetheless, many hardened from labor or mercenary work. His eagle spirit hissed irritably as one or the other darted forward a little, only to draw back just as quickly, as if testing the water. They seemed equally as reluctant as he to start an all out fight, though for different reasons.

Ezio glanced around the courtyard, searching for a foothold, the slightest ledge to allow him the advantage of height he would need to slip from this press of so many bodies. However, a little unsurprisingly, he could see none, with the only promise in a stone bench a few feet from him, but dauntingly behind the line of men still keen on taking matters into their own hands.

Abruptly, a fist flew towards his head, a rather callous attack thrown more out of bravado than anything. He took a split second longer than usual to react, needing to consciously stay his hand as he impulsively released one of his wrist blades, ready to counter. Instead, with the conflict between his will and his instinct, all he managed was to dodge back a little precariously, the punch narrowly missing the side of his face.

There was a general shout of encouragement at this show of weakness, and the Assassin bit back a snarl when the others seemed to take this first strike as a signal, launching themselves upon him from several directions. He lashed out with fist and boot to drive them back, forcing himself onto equal terms with the men around him and careful to keep his weapons sheathed. However he was struggling more than he needed to, wrestling internally as he was with his blood thirsting eagle spirit.

It was difficult to hold back, he realized tightly, whirling around underneath a solid kick and tripping the attacker with a smooth sweep of one leg. His body knew that his life was in danger and screamed at him to act upon it, to kill these men who so stubbornly got in his way and ate away at the time before the city guards arrived. His situation would only worsen when they came, these soldiers who bore actual weapons and an even stronger desire of revenge upon him, likely heartened by the support of  _Firenze_ 's populace.

As he twisted and lunged within the confined space, keeping in motion to avoid the dozen or so men who were persistently attempting to bring him down, he caught sight of a few flashes of red aura in the circle of bystanders around him, watching him coolly. He scowled at them but made no move to attack, knowing it would only worsen his already well-tarnished reputation.

Suddenly, a gloved fist struck against his ribs, slipping past his guard when his attention was turned to the Templars, and driving quite coincidentally into his injured flank. He gave a strangled cry as he staggered, his left leg buckling from the burning stab of pain, and he—just for a moment—lost control.

Eyes blazing with the gaze of his enraged eagle, he leapt forward and seized the offender around the throat, throwing him back viciously against a nearby bench and almost relishing in the splitting crack of breaking bone. As the body collapsed, he followed it, grabbing onto the man's collar and pressing a knee into the heaving chest, his left blade bared and drawn back to end the pathetic moans of pain.

The other attackers stilled abruptly, startled by the sound and the sudden, skillfully wielded aggression, and only at this did Ezio manage to catch himself, realizing his break in concentration. For a brief moment, he met the man's wide, fearful eyes, staring as if into the face of death. With a quiet growl, he released him, backing away with a measure of unsteadiness in his step.

Here, the silence of the crowd was shattered by loud voices and the clatter of armor, the arrogant shouts of the city guard commanding the people out of the way. The Assassin looked towards them, the flash of the drawn swords and glinting halberds warning him into action. Taking advantage of the faces turning to the approach of the soldiers, he plunged abruptly into the wall of people, elbowing innocents out of the way as he fled the  _Duomo_.

On any other occasion, he would have been able to outrun the chasing guards easily, weighted down as his pursuers were with heavy armor and broadswords. However, though he sprinted far ahead, out of sight, the shouts of the townspeople behind him guided the soldiers' way, pointing them in the direction of the fleeing white shadow. This stretched for several minutes thus, his breath now beginning to grate against his throat, Ezio changed tactics abruptly and leapt for the rooftops.

However, as he dug his boots into the crevices of a latticed wall, forcing his wearying body to climb, he heard a sudden clatter as something bumped against the windowsill by his head and he looked towards it in slight confusion. The next moment, a sharp pain shot through his arm as another rock, small but powerfully thrown, impacted against the limb, nearly felling him. He slipped a few feet, hands scrabbling for purchase as his grip failed, and only just managed to regain his footing before he fell too far.

He did not look back, hearing the rallying shouts as passersby followed suit of the first, picking up stones off the streets and flinging them in his direction. The Assassin grunted quietly as they bounced off him, most of the projectiles not damaging, but enough to slow him significantly as he flapped desperate wings, eager to gain the safety of the skies.

As the lip of the rooftop came into reach, he scrambled atop it, wincing at the collection of bruises he had suffered from the townspeople and taking off towards  _La Rosa Colta_ , hoping he would be able to seek sanctuary within the  _bordello_. Though he was mostly out of sight from the streets, he could still hear the persistent calls behind him, people signaling his location wherever they glimpsed him, buoying the guards' morale and prompting them to chase him much farther than they usually desired to.

At this, he hesitated, unwilling to lead the soldiers to his ally's doorstep, and changed direction quickly, making instead for the city gates. Much as he disliked the fact, staying in  _Firenze_  would only incite its people further, leaving the entire town open and in disarray, vulnerable to the impending siege. It would be best if he left for now, loathe as he was to grant the Templars the satisfaction of having driven him from his previous home.

However, his fatigue was beginning to catch up to him, wearied as he was from the ceaseless travel upon leaving the Vatican. The nobleman snarled aloud as he stumbled, his legs failing him and nearly pitching him from the rooftop. He hastily leapt into the small, walled-in courtyard below to keep his balance, softening the rather jarring impact with a roll.

He took a few more steps before he drew unsteadily to a halt, dropping onto one knee behind the meager cover of a pile of crates in the center of the enclosure. He bowed his head, gasping heavily and fearing the consequences of collapse in such an open area, one hand pressed to the stitches against his side and accepting but hating the smoldering ache of the wound.

He remained still for a span, a little relieved that his sudden detour had not been seen by any of the townsmen along the street, buying him precious seconds. He was unsure how far he would be able to go in his condition, but he needed to find somewhere to hide, to lie low at least for a few hours—

"Are you ready to surrender yet, Assassin?"

Ezio did not even consider answering this time, simply whirling towards the voice and lashing out with one hidden blade. The cloaked Templar stepped nimbly out of the way, skipping backwards to dodge the rather shallow strike.

"Take it easy, you may reopen your injury at this rate," he scolded him mockingly, pacing towards him again as the Assassin shakily realized that he could no longer gain his feet, his exhausted body now refusing to listen to his demands to rise. Despite this, he bared his teeth defiantly, one hand bracing himself upright, with the other held ready to strike as soon as the  _bastardo_  was in range.

"You can no longer run, and the guards are mere minutes away," his enemy stated thoughtfully, crouching calmly in front of him to meet his burning brown glare face to face. "I do wonder if I should just kill you here, or watch you suffer at the hands of the soldiers. They are not quite as merciful—I am sure many of them are eager to let you pay for the pains you have given them. Choose then, eagle, which should it be?"

" _Fottiti_ ," he spat out harshly, his fist clenching as he attempted to gather himself if only for one last strike, but the weakness in his limbs was smothering, restricting all but the smallest motions.

The insult only seemed to amuse the Templar as he stood, pointedly releasing the blade against his left forearm. Ezio eyed it rigidly, knowing his only choice would be to attempt to block it, as he had not the strength for anything else. "Hn. Insolent to the end, I see. Don't worry; I will at least give you one last favor before you die: a chance to see a certain piece of equipment in action, one that has been entrusted to me as a prototype."

At this, the Assassin's eyes widened and he drew back a little, hearing the telltale click of a familiar weapon being primed. The next second, the man raised his arm towards him and pulled the trigger, the resulting shot ringing out deafeningly, reverberating throughout the enclosed space and filling the air with smoke.


	6. Chapter 6

The next moment was a whirl of confusion, Ezio barely registering the impact as the force of the shot threw his body against the heavy pile of crates behind him. As he staggered, both hands pressing back into the boxes in an attempt to keep upright, he gasped out a low curse, feeling a wrenching pain radiating from his left shoulder.

Several of the stacked wood tilted off the pile from the upset, some only just missing him as they shattered against the courtyard's stones, scattering jagged planks and liquid from the now broken jars they had held. A heavy, oddly familiar scent of oil weighted the air as he sank back against the ground, clutching at his shoulder where the bullet had impacted and feeling the dent it had left in his metal spaulder. He realized, though quite distantly, that he should be grateful it had not pierced through.

"Not quite as effective as I was expecting, but it will have to do," the Templar said nonchalantly, his voice sounding faint to the Assassin as his head still reeled from the ache and the shock. He raised his head blearily, his expression quite blank, even as he heard another click from the cocking pistol, now mere inches from his face. "I suppose a close shot is necessary for a kill. I'll need to have a word with the  _ingegnere_  about adjusting its range."

The whirring of the wheel lock mechanism as it began to release seemed unnaturally slow to Ezio, his eagle spirit coaxing him into action with a piercing screech, flaring its wings defiantly before death. At this, dark eyes suddenly narrowed, focusing in an instant as adrenaline coursed through him, and he realized, though somewhat belatedly, that his enemy had finally drawn into range.

In a single, smooth movement, he slashed upwards with his hidden blade, tearing rather viciously through the unprotected flesh of the wrist and sending a fan of blood into the air. Without breaking the momentum, he twisted and stabbed sideways into the same wound, forcing the arm to his left and away from his head. The man's cry of pain mingled with the sound of the misfired shot, the recoil of the gun jerking his arm free of the blade impaling it, but also letting loose another thick spray of red.

The Assassin could not help but grin a little darkly as he watched his enemy retreat a few steps, clutching desperately at his injured arm to staunch the blood flow. However, the man seemed to recover swiftly, a cold fury stealing over him as he suddenly lashed out, delivering a powerful kick across Ezio's face. He fell back with a quiet grunt and the cloaked one seized the front of his doublet, leveling his switchblade to his throat and not seeming to notice the quickly spreading crimson stain on his sleeve. "How dare you-!"

The nobleman merely smirked at him, unthreatened. "Yet another failed attempt," he stated tauntingly despite himself, speaking determinedly past the fresh pain. "Imagine, unable to kill an adversary who is motionless on the ground. You are perhaps the most incompetent of enemies I have ever faced."

The other did not respond, glowering at him in wordless rage, until the sound of approaching steps began to filter in through the entrance to the courtyard. Here, a cruel smile twisted his lips, and he spat out venomously, "I will enjoy watching the guards torture you until they grow tired of your screams, Assassin."

Ezio bit back a snarl as he was released; his weakened legs unable to support him as he collapsed back against the still standing crates. He watched through narrowed eyes as the cloaked Templar left the courtyard, vanishing from his line of sight as he fled to lick his wounds. However, the eagle barely had the time to even consider his next move, before the sound of armored footfalls resounded suddenly in the streets just outside, the soldiers still searching for their lost prey.

He stilled, knowing tersely that he would barely be able to resist should they find him, and that the broken wood boxes would only hide him for as long as they did not enter the courtyard. He bowed his head, retreating into the darkness behind his hood as he waited, gathering what little strength he had for a last fight. If they were going to take him, he would make sure they paid for their affront in blood.

The Assassin listened stoically, hearing the steps draw ever closer to him, when a new figure abruptly came within his range of hearing, appearing to block the soldier's advance. The footsteps halted, and the guard captain's voice spoke up, evidently tightly demanding the newcomer out of the way.

"If you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you stayed out of my property," an even voice spoke out, light but commanding all the same. "First that Assassin comes plowing through and destroying half of my supplies, and now you wish to bring your soldiers in and further the damage to my courtyard? I think not."

"I'm sorry,  _signore_ , but we really must—"

"Did you not hear me? He is not here. Unless you wish the  _maestro_  to strip you of your rank, I suggest you go catch him before he causes any more trouble. He was moving that way, towards the east gate."

There was a muttered thank you, ringing with forced, grudgingly given respect, before the detachment moved on, their steps fading steadily away in the indicated direction. Ezio raised his gaze, looking slowly towards the building adjacent to the courtyard and smiling a little wryly as he recognized it. Whether it was voluntary or not, it seemed he always automatically sought this place for safety.

There was a stretch of silence, in which the Assassin continued to listen, hearing the man still standing rigidly, unmoving at the entrance of the courtyard even though the soldiers had already gone far out of sight. His breathing was oddly labored, as if he had gone through a terrible ordeal. For this one, he knew, standing against the guards had probably been one.

"Thank you,  _amico_ ," he said gently, almost reassuringly, as he felt the tension emanating from the other's very stance. "Again, I owe you my life."

"Honestly, Ezio, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Leonardo forced out exasperatedly, finally finding the strength to move shakily back into the enclosed space, seeking the fallen Assassin. "It has only been a couple of hours since I saw you, but already the warnings against you have been spreading like wildfire. It's almost as if the entire town has a vendetta against you now."

"I admit, I was not as careful as I should have been," he answered a little broodingly, reaching out as the artist offered him a hand. He staggered upright, first onto one knee, then to his feet, shutting his eyes against the dizzying fatigue. He had pushed himself much too far.

"I heard the gunshot, so I'm guessing you ran into Vincenzo. Did he injure you?" the older man asked, his tone rather rigid with guilt as he slung his friend's right arm across his shoulders, supporting him.

"Not that badly. I take it you are the  _ingegnere_  he was referring to?"

"The same," Leonardo said a little bitterly, resolutely pulling the other along though their pace was tediously slow. "The Templars asked me to create the same firearm they knew you possessed, though of course I claimed I did not know how to make one as effective as yours. But perhaps I should have refused to make it at all."

"It is done, Leonardo… don't dwell on it," Ezio said shortly, his breath clipped, realizing that he was almost too exhausted to speak. Darkness was hedging in on his vision, but he fought it stubbornly, feeling the artist slow even further next to him, staggering as he attempted to keep them both upright.

"Hang on for a little longer,  _amico mio_ ," Leonardo urged, gripping determinedly onto the Assassin's arm as he slipped, wavering, nearing unconsciousness. "I don't think I can carry you and we need to move quickly. If anyone sees us entering the workshop they'll call the guards. I need you to stay awake."

Ezio muttered something unintelligibly, his spirit flagging visibly even as they neared the door to the  _bottega_. The streets were relatively empty for now, but the short walk between the courtyard and the front door was painfully exposed, and should soldiers come towards them from any direction, they would be seen.

" _Mio dio_ , Ezio-!" the artist snapped out impatiently as the other lagged despite his promptings, fear rising as he thought he heard the approach of another patrol. Shifting his grip decisively, Leonardo clamped a firm arm around the Assassin's back to give him a better hold, ignoring the other's sudden yelp of pain as his hand incidentally dug against the still healing wound at his ribs. "I said  _move_."

The nobleman stumbled forward, startled into obedience as his friend dragged him the last few steps into the safety of the building. Leonardo rather unceremoniously allowed him to collapse against the short flight of steps by the doorway, quickly shutting the carved wood to block out any curious eyes. Only their ragged breathing could be heard for a few seconds, before the silence was broken as Ezio gave a rather weary laugh.

The artist glared at him, still a little affronted. "What?"

"You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Leonardo," he responded with a small smirk, leaning slowly back against the wood railings. The semi darkness of the unlit workshop was welcoming, the familiar scents of paint and ink lulling him into a sense of security. The other's expression softened a little as he watched Ezio close his eyes tiredly and give himself up to sleep, uncaring of the hardness of the staircase he was lying against, and assured, heartened, by the presence of his friend nearby.

However, perhaps it was due to his quick drop of guard, or simply from his fatigue, but neither he nor his ever vigilant eagle spirit noticed as Leonardo suddenly frowned, looking away and meeting the gaze of the other man standing easily in the room, his cold eyes fixed upon the sleeping Assassin.


	7. Chapter 7

Murmured voices were the first to greet him as he awoke, slowly at first, dragging himself from unconsciousness as if from a body of water. Ezio raised a hand to push the bangs from his eyes, looking about calmly and seeing he was lying on a narrow cot set in the  _bottega'_ s storeroom, which was as usual quite neatly scattered with supplies of varying use. The sight was familiar, he having occupied a similar room on many occasions in his friend's Venetian workshop.

There was no alarm as he sat up, even as he realized that his weapons and most of his armor were gone—likely to allow him to be carried into the back room—and his chest was wrapped instead with a heavy bandage, stretching up over his left shoulder and across his abdomen. Leonardo had wasted no time, it seemed.

He leaned back against the wall, flexing the fingers of his left arm experimentally and noting with a measure of relief that the bullet had dealt little damage beyond the bruise. He realized too that he felt refreshed, once again alert; this short, unguarded repose having earned him a more fitful rest than several days spent sleeping on the road. The Assassin climbed to his feet, taking up his doublet and hood that were draped on a nearby stack of canvases and searching the small room quite futilely for his blades. He paused as he absently tied his black cape over his shoulder, wondering a little blankly if the artist had left them in the main room.

Again fully dressed, he headed for the door, just beginning to open his mouth to call out to his friend and ask, when he realized that Leonardo was not alone. Falling silent cautiously, he pressed against the closed doorframe, tilting his head slightly as he tuned in on the exchange that he only now registered had been going on since he had woken.

"I don't appreciate you watching me while I work, Vincenzo." The artist's voice was terse, clipped with impatience.

"It is from your orders that I need to remain inactive like this," the other bit back, evidently pacing the workshop with agitated steps. "If you would just let me go in there and finish him while his guard is down, we can do away with this pointless charade. Do you realize that because you've forced me to tail that _bastardo_  Assassin so closely, I've been humiliated at his hand thrice already?"

"You should know your role in this without me having to tell you what to do; you were assigned to incite him, provoke him. It is your own problem that you cannot stand against him, not mine."

"I am an informant,  _Signor ingegnere,_ " the second man ground out, his tone familiar and ringing with highly sarcastic respect. "Unless you've forgotten, my specialty is in reconnaissance and manipulation, not battle. And after he injured my arm, I can't even wield  _l'arma de fuoco_  you built for me—which turned out to be quite useless if I might add."

"If you don't like my designs, don't use them," Leonardo said tightly, a light clatter sounding as he evidently tossed something irritably onto his desk. "And if you're supposedly a master in reconnaissance, how did you lose sight of him yesterday? You were careless to let him come in when I was removing the documents from the  _palazzo_  Auditore. It's lucky for you I was able to cover it up."

"He has been difficult to handle since he arrived here. Though you should be thanking me, I at least gave you another opportunity to gain his trust."

"I don't need help doing my job, Vincenzo. No one knows him better than I do." There was a slight change in the tone here, a waver that the other apparently caught onto.

"Speaking of which, I still cannot understand why you turned away the guards last night." Suspicion now. "It would have been a lot easier to let them do all the work. Don't tell me you're starting to actually grow attached to this man?"

"I did not let them take him because that is not the plan," Leonardo returned touchily. "Our orders were to wait. Even you wouldn't dare undermine the _maestro_ 's direct words—and don't touch that."

"He's quite lethal with these blades. I doubt he would be much of a threat if you kept them from him when the papal forces come to collect him."

"If I did, he would notice. This is why I am the one handling him and not you. Just keep to your own duty and leave me to mine. Now go, you'll wake Ezio with all your talk."

"Why should I? Aren't you supposed to be pretending to rent this place to me?" the Templar questioned, though his tone was careless. "But I suppose I agree, it really is a rather unnecessary façade."

"Please don't make me say it again." The artist was bristling now, his anger only shallowly hidden.

"Fine, as you wish," the man answered evenly, his footsteps sounding lightly as he moved towards the doorway. However, they halted abruptly, the cloaked one turning back and saying easily, "I suppose it's a good thing that the Assassin does not actually consider you a friend. If he simply attempted to visit you more often in  _Venezia_ , he would have noticed how many times you left your shop there to come work for us here."

This last word was answered only by stony silence, followed by a clipped opening and shutting of the front door as the Templar left.

Ezio's brow was furrowed as he waited a few more moments, hearing Leonardo sigh quietly and murmur something inaudible. He opened the door soundlessly, stepping into the main room and folding his arms as he leaned on a pillar near the smoldering fireplace, waiting patiently for the other to acknowledge his presence.

"How much did you hear?" the artist asked a little wearily, sitting on a bench near him and rubbing distractedly at his temples.

"Almost everything. Was any of what you said to me yesterday true?" He was careful to speak evenly, his tone impartial.

"Would you actually believe me if I said that it was? Or that I at least had reason to lie?" Leonardo questioned, skeptical, meeting Ezio's gaze with tired blue eyes. "It is difficult to supposedly be on both sides,  _amico mio_. I claim to be working for both, but neither trusts me, equally fearing that I will betray them for the other. After all that I hide from you, that I say behind your back, can you really accept what I tell you to be truth without questioning?"

"Yes." At the older man's confused, disbelieving blink, the Assassin repeated firmly, "Yes, I would believe you. We were friends long before either of us even knew of the conflict between Templars and Assassins, Leonardo. Whether it has been a long time since I have seen you or not, my opinion of you will not be colored just because of the role you play in this war."

There was a pause, but Ezio was quite relieved to finally see the other's usual smile at these words, and he returned it, continuing lightly, "I don't know why I have to keep reminding you of that."

"I know, I'm sorry to have you repeat yourself," the artist responded, amused. The other moved to sit next to him, meeting his eyes steadily. "Are you going to explain what you were discussing earlier? You mentioned something about the papal forces."

"Yes, the  _maestro_ —or rather, the Pope is taking advantage of the most elite of the Vatican, sending out orders for them to personally take you back to him. They should be arriving very soon, to keep you out of the way during the siege I'm assuming."

"Then what of the Templars in this city? Their mission was never to kill me then, but simply to keep me off guard until the true force arrived?" The nobleman frowned, finding he rather pitied his enemies. "I suppose it is just like the Spaniard to waste men and lives for something as petty as that."

A sudden, approaching presence caused the Assassin to tense, halting his next words mid-breath. "Someone's coming," he said quietly, eyes narrowing and fixing upon the front doorway, feeling his eagle hackle at the dangerous aura. Whoever this enemy was, they were doubtlessly livid, agitated and coiled, seeking blood. He stood and moved swiftly towards Leonardo's desk where his weapons were spread out, reaching for his hidden blade.

"Leave it," the artist hissed, snatching onto his arm to stop him. "They can't know you're awake yet. Go back to the room and stay there for now, I will handle them."

"Leonardo-"

"Trust me,  _amico mio_."

The Assassin held the determined gaze for a moment before he nodded reluctantly, hurrying back into the shade of the short hallway leading towards the back room. He leaned back against the pillar of the arched entrance, watching as his friend moved briefly out of his rather narrow line of sight to open the door.

"Ah, captain. Such an honor for you to visit." Ezio caught a hint of sarcasm in his friend's voice, though he doubted any other would have noticed it behind the polite tone.

"Don't toy with me,  _stronzo_." There was a clattering of metal as a man garbed in heavy armor rather rudely pushed his way into the workshop, pausing at the center of the main room. The eagle drew carefully back, deeper into the shadows, eying the soldier and recognizing him to be the one who had led the patrol that had almost cornered him the previous day. "The Assassin is here, isn't he? You purposefully sent me and my men on a wild chase yesterday."

"I did," Leonardo replied calmly, circling around the guard captain and prompting him to turn, averting the enemy's eyes from where Ezio stood. "But I did so only under the  _maestro_ 's orders. I suggest you do not interfere, if the plan goes awry because of this intrusion, it will be you who has to explain it to him."

The slighter man gave a short, startled gasp as the Templar abruptly closed an armored fist around the collar of his cape, jerking him threateningly close. The Assassin bristled at this, brown eyes slitting dangerously as he took swift steps forward, reaching out to tear the guard away from Leonardo, unarmed as he was or not.

However, a blue gaze flashed in his direction just before he could, sending him a warning look over the captain's shoulder. Ezio froze, unmoving for a span before he scowled wordlessly, drawing grudgingly back to his hiding place. He loathed not being able to defend him, but he could only trust that Leonardo knew what he was doing.

"I  _know_  you are in league with that Assassin," the soldier snarled, his free hand gripping tightly onto the sheathed long sword at his side. "I cannot understand why they let a rat like you so easily into the ranks. They would thank me to kill you and remove a potential thorn from the  _maestro_ 's side."

"If you are quite finished, I understand you were sent here to collect your next orders, not to make empty threats," the artist spoke, his words commendably clear despite the heavy hand at his throat. The other man was silent for a span before he released him, drawing away with a rather bitter growl. Leonardo took a step back, straightening his collar and continuing in a clipped tone, "You are to escort the papal forces into the city later today. I assume you were already told of the rendezvous?"

"Yes," the guard captain said stiffly, glaring at the other past the visor of his helmet. "I understand. I will go now,  _ingegnere_ , but mark my words, you will soon need to prove your loyalties to us."

Ezio emerged from the hallway the second the door to the workshop had closed, adrenaline still fresh in his veins. "Am I allowed to kill him now?" he ground out, staring after the man, his voice flat and deadly serious.

"No. Or at least not yet, he will be the one to lead you to your target," Leonardo said with some amusement, his tone calming as he approached and handed the Assassin his blades and bracer. He took the weapons obediently, automatically returning them to their places in the oiled sheathes set about his person, but his eyes were still fixed upon his friend. "He didn't hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine," the artist assured him, quite solemnly nonchalant. "They are always like that, full of arrogance and barely bridled violence. This is not the first time."

Ezio straightened as he tightened the final clasp around his left hidden blade, studying the other man steadily. "I will return when I have finished with Borgia's men. Where should I look for you?"

"I will be around the city, I still have several tasks that need attending to," Leonardo said thoughtfully, watching as the Assassin moved for the doorway. "However, I fear if something is not done soon, the order for the siege may be passed within the next few days."

"I promised you, remember? I will not give them a chance to even begin their attack," the younger man stated assuredly. "After all, it should be quite difficult for them to move forward if their fortress in the Tuscan countryside is infiltrated. I need only locate their commander, even if only to buy us a little time. Do you know who that might be?"

"I'm afraid not," the artist responded with a frown. "The chain of command is quite secretive, with orders passing through several hands before they reach their destination. Other than the  _maestro_ , it is difficult to tell who is next in line."

"No matter. I'm sure I can get some answers from the papal guards who are coming to the city." Ezio opened the door and paused only to say quietly, "Take care of yourself,  _amico_." Then again, like so many times previously, in a flicker, the shadow was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

The eagle did not stop running until he had reached the cover of a shaded alleyway, and even then, he paused only briefly to pull in a breath before climbing the nearest wall. The morning crowd mere feet away from him was thick and busy, moving quite mindlessly about their usual errands, and he did not wish to incite a repeat of yesterday's events. With archers and Templars on the rooftops and easily excitable commoners spread over the streets, he opted instead for the middle ground, moving across balconies and wooden railings in the direction of the eastern gate.

The guard captain he sought was moving quite swiftly, mind apparently set to his task, and Ezio found he needed to hurry to keep up, concentrating carefully on traversing the uneven, rather unpredictable landscape of low canopies and jutting signboards. Despite his unfamiliarity of taking this route over long distances, he was able to pass steadily and unnoticed, merely a negligible flash of movement, until he reached the yawning archway of the gate.

His quarry pushed easily through the crowd and out past the largely unguarded walls, unhindered by the trickle of commoners who were moving in and out of the city. The Assassin hesitated for a moment before leaping from the hanging lamppost he was balanced on, landing lightly on his feet in the midst of a passing group of nobles. Several alarmed gasps sounded around him as the innocents drew back fearfully, more than one beginning to open their mouths to call for help.

Much as he disliked marring his reputation further, Ezio reacted instinctively, opting for the only method he could think of to keep them quiet. He straightened and glared around quite menacingly at the already frightened faces, silent but threatening, one hand touching the hilt of his rapier. His aggression cut their need to cry out more efficiently than a blade to the throat, and he watched a little regretfully as the townspeople scurried off, apparently more keen to save their own lives than to aid the guards in catching the renegade  _Assassino_.

Shaking his head a little distractedly, he hurried for the gates, both to avoid the eyes of approaching commoners and to catch up with his target. The captain had luckily been delayed as he procured a horse from the nearby travel station, suggesting that the agreed upon rendezvous was quite a distance away. The nobleman loitered by the corral for a few moments, waiting for the heavily armored guard to set off before following him on his own steed.

His white mare was quite agreeable over the span of the lengthy travel, neither rearing nor faltering even as he drove it over the uneven ground off the path, keeping far from the main roads and out of sight as often as he could. The man he was following did quite the opposite, riding hard and plowing through crowds of people, uncaring of any between him and his objective. Moving thus, he left quite an easily followed trail of muttering travelers and overturned carts, clearly marking his route into the  _Toscana_  countryside and towards the tower city of San Gimignano.

As the green, well-cultivated plains spread out around him, spilling out into flatlands so drastically unlike the mountain paths he had left, the Assassin found he needed to further distance himself from his target for fear of being seen. Here, there were moments he lost sight of the captain altogether, keeping on his trail only by instinct and the keened directions of his eagle spirit. Luckily, the city appeared to be the man's final destination, for as the tall buildings of the fortress-town came into view, stabbing up into the sky, he began to slow his horse, easing its pace to a trot.

The sun was bright and burning with high noon, and Ezio ducked his head to evade the heat, inwardly relieved as he finally watched the guard captain pull his mount to a halt by a cluster of buildings on a small rise a meager distance from the city. He glanced up at the impressive marble work, recognizing the Monte Oliveto Maggiore monastery, the site of one of his earlier assassinations. Autonomous as these Benedictine monks were, it seemed they had no say against orders of the Vatican, even if it involved housing men as heavily armed as the papal guards.

The eagle hid a smirk as he thought of this, wondering about the skill level held by these supposed elite of the papal forces. He admitted that he was eager to face them, to test their reputation with battle. Spirit bolstered by the promise of an encounter, he left his horse in the shade of a nearby grove to join the number of commoners mixed into the serenely moving monks, following the flow of bodies and searching wordlessly for a way into the sanctuary that the guard captain had disappeared into.

An opportunity presented itself as he caught sight of the gabled wall of a high church tower, set adjacent to the main courtyard and a relatively deserted stretch of ground. Smoothly and without hesitating, he detached himself from the crowd and took the scuffed marble at a run, swiftly pulling himself up hand over hand before too many could notice his ascent. He fell to a crouch as soon as he had cleared the roof, leaning a hand against the warm tiles in the shadow cast by the bell tower and flicking a dark brown gaze over the wide, open courtyard encircled by the monastery walls.

They were easy to identify, his new targets, their polished, heavily adorned armor gleaming with the flamboyancy of the Templar knights of old, standing out starkly from the humble black robes of the resident monks. He counted seven, a modest number for a troop, though he suspected that there were more in other parts of the abbey. The guard captain he had tailed was speaking with one, a wide set man who was listening to the lower ranked soldier with apparently bored dignity, clutching his red plumed helmet to his side.

Ezio settled on his haunches, narrowed eyes sweeping the enemy's armor with a scrutinizing gaze. They were well covered, even more so than the brutes he usually dealt with, sacrificing speed and mobility for protection, but also suggesting the strength to carry themselves despite the weight of the metal plates. Their helms were supplemented by golden face masks, showy but no less useful, guarding well against a hidden blade to the neck, the killing strike he favored with these well-armored ones. He would need to adjust his tactics for them it seemed.

He climbed to his feet and paced the pillared roof of the covered walkways, cautiously approaching the small regiment and brushing a finger against the release mechanisms of his wrist blades. Perhaps it was foolish to leap so quickly into enemy territory, but he confided in his familiarity with the building layout, assuring himself with the presence of several easy escape routes should chance turn against him. Here, ambush and preemptive strikes were his greatest advantage.

He sprang from the low roof in a blur of color, landing heavily upon the guard captain and the one he was conversing with and driving them down into the ground, narrow blades buried deep into the backs of their necks. There was a stretched second of silence as the clatter of armor on stones resounded and faded, a brief moment of stillness that the Assassin used to regain his feet and glance in the direction of the remaining soldiers, a grim smirk sent challengingly in their direction. Then, as if signaled, the robed monks about them scattered as one, fleeing in a tepid stream of black cloth until the courtyard was empty of all but those who sought blood.

"We were waiting for you, Ezio Auditore," one papal guard spoke evenly, easily waving a hand and sending the remaining men fanning out, surrounding the motionless Assassin. He flicked his gaze around the circle, noting the several long halberds leveled in his direction, gripped confidently in unwavering hands. Ranged fighters then, all of them.

"Yes, I know," he responded shortly, leisurely retracting his hidden blades and drawing his rapier, one of his few weapons that stood a chance of piercing through his enemies' heavy shells. None in the courtyard made a move or a sound, and in the stretch of indecision, the eagle tensed, readying for a dive, before he leapt rather brashly forward, directly into the line of blades.

This startled the nearest guard who reacted instinctively with a thrust, the crossed edge of his halberd barely grazing Ezio as he whirled around in a tight pivot, dodging the long weapon and answering with a downward slash to the offender's wrist. The sword did not cut, but the grating metal on chain mail weakened the hold, allowing him to tear the other's weapon away. Skidding to a halt and changing direction abruptly, he heaved it back towards the other edge of the circle, following it smoothly as the handle and bladed edge collided straight into the face of another of the guards.

There was a low grunt as the man stumbled back, gripping at his facemask that had just barely curbed the damage, momentarily blind to the flash of white leaping towards him. Ezio reached forward with his free hand and snatched onto the staggered man's collar, quite viciously pulling him close and stabbing deep into the unprotected throat as the guard's head jerked back. However, the winding links of chain metal caught on his sword, delaying him significantly as he attempted to draw away. A second guard took the opportunity to take a powerful sweep at his leg, the thick wood haft connecting with his ankle.

The Assassin breathed out a snarl as he collapsed to one knee, unbalanced, and only just managed to dodge out of the way as two more halberds stabbed downward towards him. He picked up the dead man's fallen weapon mid-roll and swiftly regained his stance, using the spear's length to drive back two of the soldiers, first catching one in the head with the blunted end, before whirling around and stabbing the blade against a second's chest.

Despite the power behind both strikes, neither yielded much damage, proving only a momentary distraction as the first guard managed to latch onto and reclaim the stolen weapon, while the other swept out at Ezio, forcing him away. He recoiled, feeling the halberd's cross edge catch the cloth of his hood and flick a line of blood across his cheek, however he was just as quick as they to recover, throwing himself back into the fight without hesitation.

The clash stretched thus for several long minutes, with the nobleman careful to keep in constant motion, focusing his attention on each soldier in turn. However, since his first three kills, the men had grown wary, keeping their distance and stabbing out at him only when his back was turned, never giving him an opportunity to drive another of them into the ground. Gasping quietly, the Assassin retreated a few steps, giving up ground as the five advanced upon him, forcing him back towards a monastery wall.

Their defenses were too tight, the wrought metal of their armor deflecting all but his most powerful of strikes, though even then, little blood was spilled. The only open weak point he had found was at the backs of their necks, a gap in the armor joining helm and shoulder, but his enemies were equally aware of this, keeping him in front of them at all times and guarding each others' flanks. He realized, rigidly and quite irritably, that this battle would be difficult to win alone.

"No matter how long you fight, you cannot defeat us," the man who had addressed him earlier spoke confidently, marking him as likely the highest in command. "I'm sure you know that, but you still refuse to back down, correct? We are familiar with that arrogant pride of yours."

"Do not pretend to know me, Templar," Ezio bit out coldly, his blade swept out to one side, ready but loose in his grip. "If you were truly so prepared for me, why did you not lay a trap? I can leave here whenever I choose."

"Perhaps, but we know you will not," the papal soldier replied, casually signaling the others to flank him tightly on all sides. "Or would you prefer to flee like a coward again, just as you did from our  _maestro_  in the Vatican?"

The nobleman scowled but refused to be goaded, reigning in his bristling eagle with difficulty. "You call me the coward when it is you who cannot seem to fight without a score of allies at your back," he remarked flatly, shaded gaze darting between his enemies, waiting for an opening. He needed more room, he knew, for the low ceiling and solid wall of the courtyard walkway behind him were much too close, too hampering to allow free movement.

"You underestimate the value of teamwork," the guard commented, taking a slight step back out of the half-circled wall of armor and spears. "Men, together. Take him."

At the command, in a fluid movement of glinting metal, four halberds lanced forward simultaneously like the closing jaws of a wild beast. The hooded one, equally ready for the strike, twisted hastily away, dodging the nearest point and deflecting another aside with his rapier. He turned and snatched onto the haft of the third with his free hand, stopping it mere inches from his flank, but the final one, almost inevitably, found its mark.

A pained cry tore from him as the halberd bit deep into his right shoulder, ripping hungrily through flesh at his collarbone. He stumbled back and lost his grip on his sword, the power of the blow driving him heavily against the wall. The eyes of the one who had caught him glinted malevolently as he threw the remainder of his weight into the weapon, pinning the eagle gruesomely but quite effectively to the marble stones.

The others drew away a few steps, silently watching the Assassin as he grew still, panting past gritted teeth and clutching the long handle protruding from his now blood soaked doublet with one hand. "Is that all?" Ezio forced out, his head bowed, but his tone wrought with livid defiance. He raised a smoldering glare toward the papal guard captain as he approached him calmly, assured of the other's inability to move.

"Surrender, Assassin. If you come quietly, we need not subdue you further."

"A brother of yours said the same to me just yesterday," he replied tightly, bringing both hands up to his wounded shoulder with difficulty and discretely brushing a finger over the mechanism around his left arm. "I'm sure you can guess how I answered him."

The captain regarded him steadily for a span before he straightened, waving a hand towards two of the remaining guards. "So be it. You two, bring some rope, we'll force the bindings onto him if necessary."

However, the men had barely turned their backs, when the nobleman reached forward suddenly with his left, ignoring the wrenching pain in his shoulder and seizing the chest plate of the one holding him down. The other scarcely had time to blink before Ezio twisted, reaching for the trigger of the pistol he had locked into place, and deftly firing a shot point blank into his enemy's heart.

The sound echoed through the abbey as the once gleaming metal shattered, erupting with shrapnel and spatters of blood, and the papal guard collapsed backwards as heavily as a felled tree. The halberd clattered to the floor next to its wielder, and the Assassin stepped swiftly away through the gap the two guards had left in the confining circle. He retreated back into the center of the courtyard, gripping distractedly onto his wound—one that he rather brazenly thought was far from serious—and barking out, "Do not underestimate me. This is far from over."

"Actually, I believe this is just about over," the captain remarked, still seeming unruffled by the rising death count of his men. Glancing over Ezio's shoulder, he gave a short nod, a signal to a dark figure standing just beyond him.

His eagle spirit gave a screeched warning, split seconds too late, and he turned only just in time to come face to face with the beaked mask of a doctor. "I suggest you don't be difficult, signore Auditore," the familiar voice said, his tone deceptively soothing even when a piercing strike of pain lanced into the Assassin's neck, the needle of a syringe burying deep and flooding him with toxin. The result was instantaneous, the poison tearing through his system like a tongue of flame, and through the burn and the drugged confusion, he staggered, barely realizing it as he hit the ground.


	9. Chapter 9

Ezio could hear voices speaking over him as he lay against the floor, but his concentration felt broken, his senses shattered, the verbal exchange slipping past him uncomprehended. His eagle thrashed in confusion, scattering feathers, unused as it was to the smothering lightheadedness and the fragility of his focus. He knew he had all but blacked out, but he could still feel enough of his instincts to realize that he was in danger, vulnerable. He knew he needed to move and defend himself, however, he found he could barely grasp the conviction to rise, could not even concentrate enough to follow the words of his enemies.

The Assassin stirred with difficulty, catching spoken mentions of  _somniferum_  and of following the orders of  _il comandante_ , but only concluding with a measure of frustration that the drug they had given him was restricting him from understanding most of the brisk conversation.

Incited, almost angry with himself for allowing the toxin to fell him, he drew a ragged breath and rather shakily pushed against the smooth courtyard stones pressing to his chest. Though his dark eyes were unfocused from the reeling weakness in his body, he struggled stubbornly, determinedly trying to regain his feet. He had barely been able to prop himself up, however, when a sudden, searing pain dug into his shoulder, a boot crushing down into his fresh injury and prompting an indignant snarl from him as he was forced back into the ground.

"Don't try to move, Assassin," the papal guard commanded, his tone laced with malice but oddly distant, as if spoken through mist. The nobleman said nothing in response, tasting blood on his lips, but his entire frame was tense, resisting the push as much as he could manage. Though his senses still wavered unsurely, he realized he had grown more alert, if only slightly, roused by the sharp flare of pain. He gathered himself, coiled and waiting for a second arrogant strike from the man standing over him.

Instead, the weight on his shoulder lifted abruptly, only to be quickly replaced by powerful hands wrapping about the collar of his doublet as the soldier unceremoniously began to haul him upright. The vertigo of the small movement staggered him more than he had thought possible, but he steeled himself against it all the same, reacting viciously and jerking himself free, twin blades flashing towards his enemy like drawn claws. However, his vision was tunnel-like and skewed, and though he drove the guard back a few steps, the next moment he had stumbled and collapsed to one knee again, panting.  _Merda_ , what had they done to him?

"Should I give him another dose?" the voice of the doctor sounded calmly in the background, even and unconcerned. "It may be risky, but I'm sure he is worth the same, whether alive or dead."

"No. Unfortunately, our orders are different from yours,  _dottore_ ," the papal captain replied a little stiffly. "Though I know you and your kind were paid to bring down the Assassin by any means necessary, his Holiness specifically asked for him alive."

"Me and my kind? Please,  _signore_ , there is no need to use such impolite terms. We are all brothers here, that is why I agreed to help you," the physician answered, his tone still measured, but a hint of irritation audible behind the mask.

The eagle paused at this, listening to the words with curiosity. These Templars were divided it seemed, into those directly under the Spaniard, and those who answered to a lower, but nevertheless influential power, one referred to as  _comandante_. He had only begun to consider whether it was perhaps this commander who was preparing to head the siege into  _Firenze_ , when he realized that the remaining soldiers were advancing on him again, this time with all three approaching cautiously from different directions.

His lip pulled back in a snarl as he waited for them, tense and motionless, finding that stillness kept the dizzying exhaustion at bay. Another hand reached for him, and he swiftly tore his dagger from the sheath at his waist, lashing out and missing the fingers by centimeters. However, with his attention turned to one side, the other two men seized him from behind, disarming him forcibly and jerking his arms behind his back.

Ezio growled out angrily as he twisted to escape their grip, wild as a caged, half-blinded beast. He flinched as he felt one tighten a hold mercilessly around his still bleeding shoulder wound, growing still only momentarily before he retaliated, just narrowly missing stabbing the offender with his right hidden blade. As the man drew back in a dodge, the eagle turned and managed to free one arm long enough to slam his metal-backed bracer against the other's head. The third guard moved forward to help, but only received a rather careless—but nevertheless effective—kick to the chest.

The Assassin could practically feel the thick darkness weighting his thoughts and his reflexes, encompassing and heavy, but he resisted valiantly, ignoring the fact that half his strikes were blind or desperate shots. The papal guards around him were at a slight loss, none sustaining much injury, but obviously startled at the spirit left in their prey. They circled hesitantly, wary, watching as Ezio fought against the drug-induced weakness, just as stubbornly defying it as he did the men around him.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider, captain?" the doctor questioned as he observed the scuffle, amused. "Seems like your regiment is having difficulty with him even after such a high dosage—"

"Really, that won't be necessary," the man bit back, his politeness strained now. "Men, subdue him already, that is an  _order_."

The eagle took the split moment of the soldiers' distraction to fire another shot from his pistol, the bullet flying wide but close enough to startle those around him into retreating slightly, the memory of the damage it had so swiftly dealt still fresh. Seeing the opening, he forced himself to his feet and managed to reach one of the pillars next to the courtyard, feeling a spark of hope that he would be able to hold out long enough to get away.

However, the confidence didn't last for long as a thick arm wrapped abruptly around his neck from behind, cutting short his already elusive breath and yanking him away from his escape route. The nobleman struggled against the hold as he choked, his strength failing rapidly as the papal guards closed around him again. His spirit flared indignantly at the unfamiliar bite of ropes into his arms, but the pressure on his throat bound him too strongly, and he found he could do little to resist it.

Realizing, however bitterly, that he had finally been bested, Ezio only made faltering attempts to pull free, all the while dragging in each breath with difficulty. Just before he grew too lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, he slackened defensively, bowing his head to his chest and allowing his eyes to slide shut. At this, he felt the hold on him shift and relax slightly; the men around him assuming that he had finally lost consciousness. Indeed, he found it difficult to stay alert past the darkness and the drug's tempting call to sleep, but he held to awareness resolutely, silently, reminding himself that he would likely never awaken again if he slipped.

"Finally. This  _figlio di puttana_  has caused much more trouble than he's worth," one of the soldiers murmured in annoyance as he finished tying the bindings about the now motionless Assassin.

"You've certainly wasted enough time," the captain said touchily, approaching with heavy steps. "We need to return to the Vatican immediately. Bring the prisoner to the horses so we can—"

"Pardon me,  _signore_ , but that was not the agreement," the doctor spoke up abruptly, rather fearlessly drawing near the small group.

"Isn't it?" the papal guard questioned, the veil of a threat sounding behind his still irritated voice. "You must be mistaken. If I were you, it would be best if you went on your way. I wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen to a  _brother_."

"I refuse." The answer was blunt, surprisingly bold in the presence of four heavily armed men. The physician paid no mind to the rather menacing light clatter of armor as some of the guards moved for their weapons, openly ignoring them and continuing easily, "The sedative I gave  _signore_  Auditore will not last for more than an hour. I imagine it would be unfortunate for you if he managed to escape your supposedly trustworthy hands while you are on the road. I do wonder what the Pope would think."

"That's not going to happen," the captain ground out, bristling.

"Will it not? I suppose it isn't likely, but would you really take that chance?" Ezio caught an assured lightheartedness in the tone, watching through slitted eyes as the physician drew near him, touching a rather critical hand to the deep wound through his shoulder, examining it. He swallowed a pained hiss, forcing himself to remain still until the man finally looked away towards the guard again. "Come, captain, my terms are not difficult. Besides, this eagle should be a lot easier to handle if you allow me to keep subduing him. I will also treat his wounds if you'd like, it would be equally disadvantageous if he died during your travels."

"…Alright," the guard captain finally snapped, unable to refute the evenly spoken words. "We will bring the Assassin to the  _Toscana_  fortress first so you can collect your payment, but his Holiness will hear of how you delayed us."

"No matter," he replied easily. "I'm sure  _il comandante_  will vouch for the interruption. He is just as eager to meet this one as the Pope is."

The nobleman allowed himself to be pulled from the courtyard, admittedly fatigued simply from the strain of staying conscious. He supposed it was fortunate that his enemies were taking him to the very target he had sought to kill, fortunate too that they were convinced that the toxin and ropes would be enough to hold him. They were arrogant, not even bothering to strip him of his hidden blades, and pinning their hopes on the wisp of poison in his blood. If he managed to retain his strength long enough for his dagger to find their commander's throat, his actions would not be in vain.

Though he told himself this, he felt his eagle spirit flutter unnaturally feebly, frayed and disheartened by the realization of capture. He would never voice it, but the image of a cage weighted him with a feeling of dread stronger than he would ever dare admit. Despite attempting to convince himself that biding his time would be the best course of action, Ezio found he needed to struggle to banish the paralyzing sense of hopelessness, eventually sliding from exhaustion into the darkness of sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

The Assassin regained consciousness with a measure of shock, barely having noticed losing it in the first place. Though his muscles were sore, likely from being bound to the saddle of an unfamiliar horse for at least a few hours, he resisted the urge to shift or even open his eyes, withholding any indication that he had woken. Instead, he listened, counting the amount of plodding hooves around him and gauging them to number a little under a dozen. Quite an escort for a single prisoner, he thought carelessly, though he found he did not blame their paranoia.

He moved his arms slightly and felt the brush of a new bandage around his right shoulder, as well as the already expected ropes wrapped neatly about his forearms and wrists, the rough cord holding them behind his back. These he tugged at experimentally, finding that they were tight but not uncomfortable, most of the cut of the strands absorbed by his bracers. With further surprise, he found that, if given enough chance to shift the bindings, it would be possible to release a blade into them and cut himself free. The carelessness of this confused him, and almost involuntarily, he lifted his head to look around at the papal guards that had jessed him.

Immediately, a wave of nausea swept over him and he recoiled behind his hood with a quietly snarled curse, shutting his eyes against a suddenly fierce headache. He tried not to shudder as the pain slowly receded, likely gentled by the loss of light, and he swallowed hard, deftly biting back any further sounds of discomfort. However, his first had evidently been heard, for the now easily recognizable voice spoke up from by his shoulder.

"Not to worry,  _signore_ , it is just an after effect of the sedative," the doctor said calmly, his proximity suggested that he was likely the one holding the reins of the Assassin's horse.

Ezio cracked open an eye long enough to glare at him, but said nothing in response. Unconcerned, the other continued, "Though I can assure you the headaches are just the beginning. The drug I gave you is a painkiller as well as a soporific, thus ironically, most of my… 'patients,' shall we say, would prefer to be given another dose, rather than suffer the pains of the withdrawal symptoms. Quite a vicious cycle, isn't it?"

"I'll pass, thank you," he ground out, his politeness highly sarcastic as he shut his eyes again and retreated behind the somewhat comforting darkness.

"Suit yourself," the masked one replied nonchalantly. "But trust me, it will not be long before you are the one asking me for it."

Refusing to be threatened, the nobleman ignored him, turning his attention instead to their surroundings and peering past a narrowed vision in order to lessen his migraine. He wrestled his focus into cooperation, ignoring the steady throbbing behind his eyes and realizing a little dully that he could not recognize the road they were taking, nor even the rather featureless farmlands enclosing them on all sides. The only thing that assured him was the position of the sun, marking evidence that it had only been a couple of hours at most since he had blacked out. Even riding hard, they could not have gotten far, not out of the boundaries of Tuscany at least.

He had only just noted that they were heading east, when he caught sight of a shape on the horizon ahead of them, the silhouette of a towered city etched clearly across the sky. Confused, he began to wonder if they were heading towards San Gimignano—drastically unlikely, as they had been minutes away from the walled town when he had passed out—until he realized a stark pattern in the colossal structures.

All of the pillar-like assemblies were identical, built wooden and evidently wheeled, quite unlike the solid stone towers he was familiar with. As they drew closer, the 'city' was revealed to be a formidable military base, shelled thickly with heavy walls, and surrounded by the spires of what he now comprehended were siege towers. The Templar invasion force, he realized, a scowl twisting his scarred lip as he straightened and rather hatefully studied the fortress in its entirety.

"Are you afraid, Assassin?" the papal captain questioned mockingly from the front of the group, apparently hearing him shift. "I'm sure you realize now that it's foolish to think that you and yours actually stand a chance of preventing our siege."

Ezio did not trust himself to speak, instead keeping his temper and ducking his head in feigned weakness. Though he easily ignored the captain's arrogant chuckle at his supposed broken spirit, he realized that he truly was starting to feel sickened from the motion, from the tearing emptiness the sedative left behind as it dissipated from his system. He shut his eyes carefully, reserving his strength and trying to discount his body's near-desperate requests for reprieve. This drug was like wine, he realized bitterly, tempting and deceptive, promising relief when all that it yielded was a self-destructive craving for more. He needed to weather it, and only hope that the effects would recede by the time he faced his enemy's  _comandante_.

As they moved past the roughly hewn walls of the stronghold, the Assassin felt his eagle flutter in slight distress at the creaking of the portcullis behind them, the metal sounding out high and grating as it slid closed. It would be difficult to escape, but not impossible, he told himself firmly, tamping down the rising unease. He would not let mere walls encage him.

The streets they passed through were as busy as those of any city, men flowing past the tight regiment of papal guards in organized streams, and paying them little heed as they attended to their business. Perhaps once, this had been an ordinary town, filled with citizens and commoners going about their lives, until the Templar forces had seen fit to take it as their own. Now, the only inhabitants of its roads were soldiers and laborers, mixed in equal measure, the great clatter of their scabbards and armor and other machinery of war taking the place of the usual lull of traded words or friendly conversation.

The group finally drew to a halt in a small, open square, following the direction of a lower ranked foot soldier as he guided the way for the apparently honored guests. The men around him began to dismount, and Ezio lifted his head with some difficulty, though determinedly pushing the ache of the ebbing sedative to the back of his mind. He would need to be ready—his opportunity was fast approaching. With steeled confidence, he watched with only shallowly hidden disdain as one papal guard drew near him, cautious.

"Come quietly, eagle, it will do you no good to struggle here," the man said carefully, reaching out and speaking evenly as if to calm a skittish horse.

The Assassin gave an impatient breath at the treatment, and he blatantly shifted away from the man, sliding from the saddle and landing lightly on his feet with an ease that they evidently did not expect. Despite the fact that he had not attempted to take a step in any direction, he staggered a little as he was seized by at least three papal soldiers, alarmed as they were that he was attempting to escape. He smirked at their paranoia, but was silent, following them docilely to a nearby building. They still feared him it seemed, despite the ropes and his lack of weapons.

The room they entered was wide and dimly lit, shadows clinging heavily to its low rafters and reminding him of a workshop, or perhaps an old forge. Ezio said nothing as he was led to the back of the large, open space, his eyes half-lidded to aid his concentration and acting outwardly composed until he noticed the smaller antechamber they were heading for. The cell seemed no bigger than a closet, tight and confining and equipped with a solid lock. Unease and claustrophobia rose in him, and he tensed, instinctively drawing to a halt but fighting to keep the discomfort from his face.

The papal soldiers holding him paused as well; a little unsure and likely worried that forcing him into the narrow room would set him off again. The wounds they had received from this  _diavolo_  were apparently still fresh upon their memories.

"What's the matter with all of you?" the papal captain barked out from near the main entrance, haughty despite the fact that he was rather obviously keeping his distance. "He is just one man."

At this, the Assassin saw his opportunity and he fell abruptly to a crouch, startling his escort enough to release him. He could not help but grin a little darkly at their rather craven reaction as he abruptly twisted, jerking one arm to release a hidden blade through his bindings and tearing himself free of the lacerated strands. He whirled around smoothly to drive a well-placed boot against one guard's knee, knocking him off balance and presenting an opening. Both the man and the discarded cord hit the wooden floor in a tangle, but Ezio was already in motion, running towards the far wall.

"I thought you said that you would subdue him!" the captain's enraged, accusing cry burst from behind him, audible even over the pounding footsteps as every soldier in the room scattered, attempting to surround and retrieve the prisoner.

"Was that the agreement?" the doctor questioned calmly, trailing after the Assassin's retreat at an easy lope. "You must be mistaken."

The nobleman took no notice of their exchange, set only on escaping the Templar's reach. The pulsing headache from the sedative was distracting, slightly staggering his steps and only intensifying the accompanying chill of nausea, however, he ignored both symptoms pointedly. Impatiently brushing the feverish sweat from his brow, he fixed a dark gaze upon his escape route, a high window in line with the thick, dusty rafters.

A guard leapt threateningly into his path, brandishing a halberd, but the eagle saw him as little more than an obstacle to be taken advantage of, not even bothering to slow his pace as he approached. He leapt easily, jumping against the metal-encased shoulder and using the man as leverage to reach one of the crossed wood beams overhead. He swiftly pulled himself up, his cape trailing behind him like a spread wing and tauntingly dodging the grasp of the papal soldier with barely a few centimeters to spare.

Ezio traversed the evenly spaced rafters as easily as a level street, heading straight for the promising flash of blue he could see through the open window. He breathed heavily and purposefully, resolutely pushing away the stabs of pain and vertigo. He carefully dodged the sharp glints of metal as the soldiers lashed upwards at him with halberds and spears, unable to reach, but determinedly attempting to fell him all the same. He only halted perched on the safety of the window ledge to catch his breath, balanced a little precariously between confinement and freedom. However, a clatter caught his attention and he glanced back just in time to see the physician following startlingly close behind him, climbing up along the wall with surprising agility.

Realizing the incoming threat, he leapt quickly away from the building, the open air and wind and sky welcoming him and sweeping comfortingly past the folds of his uniform, before he caught the edge of an adjacent structure and resumed his flight. The rough, unmaintained tiles of the neglected rooftops provided easy footing for the Assassin as he ran, even with the cloud of ache hanging doggedly over him; and despite his clattering movement in broad daylight, he realized that he need not be concerned about the soldiers in the streets, unfamiliar as they were of a threat from above.

The only immediate risk was the doctor, persistently tailing him and leaping with surprising efficiency along the uneven building edges, not missing a step behind the fleeing eagle. Ezio looked back at him with impatience, frowning and knowing that the man had let him go on purpose in order to take the credit of his capture for himself. This one needed to be dealt with swiftly.

On the central beam across the steeply arched roof of an abandoned church, he slowed steadily with seeming exhaustion, listening carefully for the tread of his pursuer until he gauged that the Templar was directly at his back. Here, he turned smoothly and slid to a halt, lowering to one knee to steady himself and stabbing both hidden blades into the darkly cloaked figure still advancing upon him. However, even as he lunged forward, he caught sight of the narrow metal of a needle, the doctor retaliating by lashing the syringe out directly into his path.

Brown eyes narrowed and he shifted his attack swiftly, refusing to be caught twice by the same low tactic. He leaned away and brought his blades together in twin diagonal strikes, the narrow knives biting into fragile metal and glass, and splintering the injection, strewing the liquid it had contained onto the roof tiles. He pushed to his feet, forcing the doctor back a step as he leveled both his weapons to the other's throat.

"I should kill you here," Ezio growled out coldly, his crossed blades dripping toxin and brushing against the other man's neck threateningly. "But first I need information. Who is this _comandante_  you were speaking of before? Is he here?"

"I am told that he is," the physician responded smoothly, though a little vaguely, raising his hands placatingly. He was as unruffled as ever despite the danger to his life, only studying the Assassin quite expressionlessly past his beaked visor. "But are you not in pain,  _signore_? I am a doctor, I can help you."

He only scowled in response, his eagle hissing in annoyance at this voice so persistently wrought with false assurances. "I am not in any pain," he said bluntly, if a little untruthfully. "And I do not need any of the 'help' you offer. Just answer my questions."

"Ah, of course, since you always have your precious  _amico_  to run to, correct?"

The nobleman blinked, though he was quick to mask his surprise. "If you are not willing to give me the answers I seek, I will find them elsewhere," he bit out, though his hostile words only seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"You came to me yesterday seeking treatment for a deep wound," the other continued easily, speaking as if in casual conversation. "Instead, you seem to have received care from elsewhere, from a non-professional by the look of it. I saw the stitches while you were unconscious,  _signore_  Leonardo's handiwork is quite unmistakable."

"Your life is about to end," he reminded him flatly, patience quickly wearing thin from the diversion of topics and his still persistently throbbing headache. "You have an odd choice of last words."

"Perhaps. But as I said before,  _signore_ , I am a doctor. You would do well not to take me too lightly."

The hand that shot towards him was neither in a punch nor an armed strike, thus initially registering as barely a threat, right until it connected. The eagle only just managed to stifle a cry as the other struck his left flank with surgical precision, driving pressure directly into his still healing stab wound and forcing him down onto one knee. The ache flared up fresh and searing, but he snarled aloud to shake off the pain, countering defensively and catching the doctor with a slash—deep, though not lethal—across the chest.

Both men staggered apart, and in the split moment Ezio realized that he was inevitably losing his balance, his body failing from the relentless assault, he quickly reached forward and snatched onto the other man's waxed robe. The world seemed to tilt as his vision veered dangerously, but he clung on, dragging his enemy with him as they both slipped from level footing and tumbled against the angled roof. The sheer surface did little to slow their fall, and the Assassin could only brace himself as he slid from the smoothened titles and out into open air.


	11. Chapter 11

The sensation of falling was far from an unfamiliar feeling for him, though due to the angle of the roof, as well as the added weight of the Templar he had dragged with him, Ezio found that the fall was neither easy nor even straight down. He tried to steady himself as the air tore past him, whipping at the tails of his sash and cape, but his efforts to control the descent proved quite useless. He had barely managed to shut his eyes, tucking his limbs to keep from breaking any bones, when both he and the doctor were rather surprised to find their impact cushioned by an ever-convenient cart of hay.

The comfort of the strands was only fleeting however, as their momentum drove them powerfully first against the bottom, then the wall of the wooden cart, effectively knocking it over and spilling its contents in a tangle of straw and limbs. The nobleman coughed as he rolled a fair distance, struggling to regain his feet as quickly as possible as he heard the tread of curious, approaching soldiers. Luckily, the overturned cart was obscuring him for now and he took a step, prepared to bolt, when he saw the doctor stirring vaguely on the ground by him, and he remembered that their business was not yet finished.

Much like an eagle hooding its wings over its prey, he snatched onto the collar of the still disconcerted Templar and dragged him the fortunately short distance into the building beside them, disappearing from view of the streets. The long room was cloaked in gentle darkness but its arranged series of low, dusty wood walls revealed it clearly as a large stable, resounding with the nickering of disturbed horses and the shuffled scent of straw. Hooves shifted and ears flicked in annoyance at the intrusion, but luckily, for now, the building was empty of any else but themselves.

The Assassin released the other by one of the nearby stalls, and pulled away a few steps before leaning back against one of the walls across, panting quietly and trying to ease the throbbing pain in his body. The fall and the physician's attack had done little good for his injury, but he found that it was the least of his problems. The withdrawal symptoms of the drug were escalating, blurring his senses and filling his head with a thick, relentless pounding. Briefly, and a little involuntarily, Ezio bowed his head and shut his eyes, clutching at himself in an attempt to banish the chill and the small tremors running through his muscles. The thought of taking in another dose of the sedative admittedly crossed his mind, but he mentally rebuked it rather forcibly, refusing to even entertain the suggestion.

There was a short, slightly pained chuckle from across the room, and the eagle quickly straightened into a readied stance, shaking his head slightly and berating himself inwardly for the show of weakness. "Poison is a rather treacherous foe, isn't it,  _signore_?" the other questioned a little solemnly, thoughtfully touching a gloved hand to the gash Ezio had dealt across his chest.

He wondered at first why the Templar had not attempted a second assault, had not even tried to get to his feet, when he remembered that his hidden blades had been slicked with the accursed drug during their brief scuffle. The dosage the slash had delivered could not have been much, but the toxin was apparently powerful enough to restrict the doctor from drastic movement, at least for a few minutes. The nobleman could not help but smirk as he realized that the playing field had been leveled somewhat.

"Luckily for me, I am not fighting a losing battle to it," he said a little brazenly, ignoring the fact that his voice caught, ever slightly, in his throat.

"Not yet. But give it time," the doctor answered, calmly reaching into a satchel at his belt as he spoke. The eagle's eyes slitted rather agitatedly as he recognized an empty syringe, as well as a small glass bottle filled with the now familiar liquid. However, instead of attempting to attack, the other man proffered the two items, studying the rigid Assassin levelly. "These I offer to you,  _signore_ , as well as a deal."

"I do not make arrangements with the dead," Ezio replied coldly, unmoving from where he stood, but his eyes unable to leave the innocently glinting vial.

"Neither do I," the doctor countered, his tone light. "Admit it, even if you kill me, you will not last an hour before you are captured again. I know the drugs that I use,  _signore_ , the opioid withdrawal will bring you down if the papal guards do not."

"Excuse me if I do not take your advice, Templar," he ground out, a fist clenched with his efforts to keep his stance steady. Concentration was growing increasingly more difficult, and he found he only wished to find a safe place to rest for a few hours. Talk now was meaningless.

He advanced slowly with determined control, releasing a single wrist blade and deftly knocking the sedative from the other man's grasp with his free hand. Despite the threat, the doctor did not cower, nor did he attempt to retaliate as the Assassin stood over him. "I request you to reconsider," he said quite evenly, though there was a hint of confidence in the tone that rather confused the eagle. His prey was helpless beneath his talons, yet there was no fear. "Consider: if you do not accept my deal, it will be your  _amico_  who suffers for it."

"…This has nothing to do with Leonardo," he spoke, defensive, his eyes burning with a dangerous glare. A little reluctantly, though, he stayed his blade, admittedly curious of what the other had to say. "I can think of no reason why you keep bringing him up."

"By saving yourself, you put him in danger," the doctor said, his hidden eyes not leaving the younger man's face. "Only his engineering skills have kept him alive in our ranks so far, suspicious as it was for him to join us so suddenly. The barest hint of betrayal will condemn him. It is really too bad, he was given a golden opportunity to redeem himself, but I suppose the fool was simply too dim-witted to realize which was the winning side-"

The Templar staggered and collapsed sideways to the floor, his beaked mask displaced from the swift kick Ezio had lashed across his face. The eagle glowered down at him, anger bolstering his conviction, and hissed, "Do not speak of him that way. I can kill you at any time; I suggest that you do not forget that. Just get to your point."

The doctor slowly pushed himself back upright, silent a moment and perhaps finally deciding not to test the Assassin's patience any further. A moment passed before he continued, " _Signore_  Leonardo has been summoned here to the fortress. He was the one in charge of manipulating you, but he blatantly went against the plan of handing you over to my brothers and me. With the entire medical community of  _Firenze_  now under Templar control, it was merely a matter of him directing you to one of us; yet he did not, instead twice he offered you sanctuary and treatment. If the commander hears of this, I can assure you, the _ingegnere_  will never leave here alive."

"And how again do you expect this information to spare your life?" Ezio questioned flatly. No emotion reflected in his face or his voice, but inwardly he felt a stab of concern, worrying for his friend who had so willingly put himself in danger.

"If you surrender, just long enough for me to collect my pay from  _il comandante_ , I will claim that I was the one who treated you, thus clearing  _signore_ Leonardo's name," the doctor said, quite assuredly for a man who was injured and at the mercy of an enemy. The nobleman frowned, but realized grudgingly that there was reason for the other's confidence.

"I cannot trust you," he finally said, a little vehemently. "Besides, if I just kill you here, the knowledge that Leonardo treated me dies with you."

"Perhaps, but that will only leave questions that cannot easily be answered," the physician reminded him as he slowly, if a little shakily, climbed to his feet. "The commander will want to know how you managed to evade capture for so long while you were still supposedly injured, not to mention how you knew of the location of the papal guards. Without me, only  _signore_  Leonardo can provide those answers, and I am sure it would prove easy to… extract them if necessary."

The Assassin's eyes narrowed dangerously, a wordless snarl at his lips at the mere suggestion, but he had barely started to speak when approaching steps sounded by the door, halting him. Time had run out, it seemed.

"What do you say,  _signore_?"

In this stretched moment, Ezio was torn, knowing that neither choice was assured, dubious as the promises of the doctor were. To be captured now, or later, seemed the only options that remained, his actions ultimately dictating whether he directly or indirectly endangered Leonardo. He shifted his stance slightly as the horses around them began to snort in distress from the disturbance outside, the clattered approach of heavy weapons and armor marking the enemy's advance. In the end, the decision was easy, and without further hesitation, he chose.


	12. Chapter 12

"…I yield, Templar."

The doctor cocked his head at him slightly, simply watching the other a moment as he took a few steps back, his blades lowered decisively to his sides. Ezio dropped his gaze; shading his rather conflicted expression with his hood and trying to calm his protesting eagle spirit. To fight would only waste energy and endanger his friend, he reminded himself firmly. He could not risk it.

"A wise choice," the man assured him, approaching and circling him slowly, as if testing the truth of his words. The Assassin did not move, stoic under the scrutiny and the loud footsteps of the papal guards just beyond the walls. Within seconds, the stable door swung open to admit the handful of heavily armored men, and the soldiers at its front only paused a moment before fanning out in practiced formation, circling carefully around their enemy to block both ends of the narrow corridor. The horses around them whinnied their disapproval at the clamor, several shifting audibly and pawing at the ground. A nearby stallion in particular brayed loudly, rattling the door of its stall in agitation.

The papal forces ignored the din, making way for their leader as he pushed through the crowd, heading towards the two men in the center of the circle. "I should have known you were conspiring with the enemy,  _dottore_ ," the papal captain said, his tone livid.

"Unfortunately,  _signore_ , you are mistaken," the doctor responded smoothly, though with an undertone of irritation. "You should be thanking me. The Assassin will give you no more trouble; I guarantee it. See for yourself."

There was a pause of silence, but Ezio did not look up even as he heard the approach of the captain, his steps still wary, disbelieving as he was of the physician's words. The nobleman clenched his fists as he waited, tensed, forcing his stance to be steady despite the slight, involuntary tremors still running through him, despite the throbbing pain at his temples that was stubborn to abate. He refused to seem afraid.

"What did you do?" the captain asked suspiciously, evidently surprised to be able to draw near enough to the eagle without eliciting a reaction. He looked over at the doctor who had drawn away to bandage his own injury, covering the wound Ezio had given him earlier. "Is this another of your cursed medicines?"

"No. Let's just say that the  _Assassino_  and I have come to terms," the Templar responded easily, not looking up from his work. "You may do what you wish with him, he has little spirit left to resist."

"And why don't I believe you?" the captain asked rather disdainfully, shifting his long-handled weapon between his hands as he stood blatantly in front of the motionless eagle, staring at him skeptically.

Ezio glanced at the papal guard past the edge of his hood, just in time to see him suddenly jab the blade of a halberd in his direction, purposefully provoking him, perhaps in an attempt to prove the doctor wrong. His eyes narrowed, but he did not flinch, gauging that the strike was little more than a bluff, and indeed, the crossed edge stopped just short, resting against his neck. The Assassin restrained his instincts, keeping still with his head bowed, even though he knew that the captain was wide open for a counter.

"…Impressive," the papal guard admitted, his tone grudging but also somewhat fascinated. He drew a little nearer, keeping his weapon leveled to Ezio's throat and studying him closely. "So you say he will no longer fight back?"

"He will not, I assure you."

"Good."

The Assassin saw the strike before it impacted, but merely braced himself for it, swallowing a pained grunt as the captain whirled the haft around and hit him squarely on the side of the head. He stumbled back towards one of the stall doors, his body failing and his vision shattered, only dully hearing the arrogant bark of laughter. The captain pressed forward and delivered another blow against the unbalanced nobleman's chest, driving him back further, and continuing to smirk as he goaded, "I will teach you to humiliate me in front of  _il comandante's_  forces."

Staggered and blinded, only instinct warned him of the next, incoming stab; and though Ezio knew that it would be wiser to simply weather the guard's temper, he found that his eagle spirit had had enough.

Gritting his teeth against the fresh ache, he reacted, reaching forward blindly but assuredly, and deftly catching the weapon before it could complete its arc. Jerking it forcefully from the man's startled grasp, he discarded it to one side and took a swift step forward, releasing a single wrist blade and touching it to the other's chin. Deliberately, he raised a dark, burning glare towards the papal captain's face and caught a flash of fear behind the gold mask.

"Do not test my patience, Templar," he hissed, his voice low and menacing, though admittedly a little ragged.

There was a strained silence as the soldiers around them tightened grips on their halberds, rallying for a counter, until the doctor cut in nonchalantly, "Settle down, eagle. Do remember what is at stake here."

Ezio turned to him, his eyes still slitted, but obliged reluctantly, releasing the papal guard and drawing back a few paces.

"I want him sedated again," the captain demanded, his voice raised and almost hysterical, backing away from the Assassin and rather involuntarily touching his neck where the hidden blade had grazed him. "Right  _now_ ,  _dottore_ , or you can forget about taking credit for his capture."

"I really don't think that is for you to decide,  _signore_ , but as you wish," the physician responded calmly, moving to retrieve the syringe and vial that still lay unbroken on the floor. "If you would just give me some room to work."

The nobleman averted his eyes as the papal soldiers backed away, almost disgusted with himself as he found that he did not object the idea of receiving another dose of sedative and, indeed, practically desired it. The chill and the nausea seemed only to escalate with the promise of reprieve, and he swallowed hard, bowing his head to hide the discomfort.

He looked up only upon hearing footsteps break the silence, and recoiled instinctively, pressing his back to the wooden wall behind him as he realized that the physician had drawn near without him noticing, the injection held ready. "It's alright,  _signore_  Auditore," the man said, his voice surprisingly soothing. "You are in pain. This will ease it."

Ezio said nothing in response; his defiance somewhat swayed by the drug-induced weakness, and offered no resistance, right until he felt the needle begin to press against his throat. Only here did he react, his spirit provoked by a sudden flare of self-preservation, and, just as abruptly, the doctor's comforting words died mid-breath. The Assassin's lip pulled back in a small snarl as he spoke quietly, "I've changed my mind. If Leonardo is in danger, then  _I_  will be the one to liberate him, not you."

He silently retracted his hidden blade, feeling the knife catch on sinew and flesh as it withdrew from the doctor's chest cavity. There was no immediate reaction, the papal guards not yet realizing the kill, until the eagle turned swiftly, unlatching the door of one of the horses' stalls and disappearing into it, allowing the Templar's body to collapse against the hay strewn floor behind him.

The cry was raised, but Ezio barely heard it, his attention focused only on the fair stallion before him. He drew near, raising his hands to it calmingly as it snorted and flicked its ears at him, voicing its indignity. It was spirited, it seemed, and fiercely territorial—exactly to his advantage. The migraine and the incoming Templar soldiers were distracting, but the Assassin ignored both, pulling himself swiftly onto the horse's bare back and murmuring quietly, " _Andiamo, amico_. You wish to leave here as much as I do."

Winding his grip tightly into the mane, he felt the powerful steed below him surge out from the stall, knocking over and trampling at least two papal guards as it went. He leaned low against the horse's neck as it tore down the stable's central corridor, shutting his eyes against the dizzying lurch of the still persistent withdrawal symptoms, and simply leaving his fate to the beast.

The last Ezio could remember was a clattered crash of wood and a flash of failing sunlight signaling their escape, though still the stallion did not stop, tearing down an empty street with a loud clattering of hooves.


	13. Chapter 13

The ground was hot and dry underneath his cheek, and he stirred restlessly, struggling just to reawaken his senses. The sound of a myriad of shifting steps all around him, however, sent a sudden strike of adrenaline through him, and Ezio whirled to his feet, both blades drawn. It was early evening by now, and through still blurred eyes, he glared out at the dark shapes that circled him, menacing. Eventually however, his sluggish vision swam into focus, and he blinked, realizing that the crowd around him was not one he had expected.

He was in a fenced, outdoor corral set against the fortress wall, milling with about a dozen warhorses. The beasts roamed freely, if a little restively, in the confined area, thoroughly ignoring the hooded one in their midst. As the adrenaline drained from his system, the Assassin felt the dizziness rear once again, and he took a disoriented step backwards, nearly losing his balance, only to be steadied by a gentle nudge on his shoulder. He glanced back to meet the rather baleful gaze of the pale-furred stallion he had escaped on, staring at him as if expecting something.

He hesitated before reaching out a hand and distractedly patting its nose, wondering why he had not yet been found and recaptured, despite the fact he had lain unconscious for at least an hour. However, a sudden realization struck him, and he almost laughed aloud at the thought. "To hide in plain sight," he commented quietly to the horse before him, a small smile tugging at his lip. "You think like an Assassin, my friend."

The stallion merely snuffed once against his fingers, before turning and burying its muzzle back into the nearby feedbox, eating alongside its fellows with carefree abandon. The nobleman, meanwhile, paced to the edge of the enclosure and lowered himself into a sit with his back against the black stoned wall. He was feverish, he realized a little irritably, though at least the nausea and headaches had gentled somewhat.

He swallowed drily and absently wiped the sweat from his brow. He was glad for the cover the animals offered him, but he could not stay here; time was only running out. Before anything, he needed to at least find water and regain enough strength to complete his objective. The only thought in his mind was to locate the fortress stronghold before Leonardo arrived—he would make sure that the artist would be the least of the Templar's worries after he was finished with their  _comandante_.

He climbed to his feet a little shakily and ignored the unsteadiness of his steps as he wove carefully through the press of horses around him, jumping the low fence thoughtlessly and slipping into a nearby alleyway. As the nobleman moved closer towards the center of the city, he caught the sounds of life once again, the stream of workers apparently unceasing, even with the coming of night. Torchlight and watch fires burned brightly at regular intervals here, thus he hesitated, knowing that the flames would easily reflect the telltale white of his uniform.

He glanced around quickly and, upon catching sight of a nearby abandoned  _sarto_ , proceeded to breaking into the side door. A hidden blade to the old wood around the lock yielded surprisingly swift results, and he slid silently into the tailor's shop with barely a creak of unused hinges to mark his passing. Once inside, he promptly pulled a length of rough brown cloth from one of the shelves, spilling a swirl of dust, and wrapped it about his shoulders and head as a makeshift cloak. The material hung down about his waist, and he knew that he was still somewhat conspicuous, but at least now the shadows would admit him.

A little edgy from the narrow space, he hurried back into the alley and turned down another side street, eyes trailing along the peak of the city walls in an attempt to collect his bearings. With an army and workforce this large, he gauged, the fortress was doubtlessly equipped with a storehouse, likely set near the main gate. He simply needed to locate it and liberate some of the supplies for himself.

His goal and his mind were set, but—infuriatingly—he began to tire after walking briskly for only a few minutes, forcing him to slow reluctantly to a halt between two low buildings. Panting quietly, he leaned against one of the walls, feeling his breath scratch hollowly against his parched throat as he attempted to rally his final reserves of strength.

However, after a too-long span of immobility, anger flared, the eagle thoroughly frustrated with the lack of response from his failing body. Shaking his head forcefully, he pushed himself upright, breaking a little brazenly into a sprint. This run, fueled purely with carelessness and irritation, only served to worsen his situation, as instinct warned him almost too late of the incoming enemy presence.

Startled, the Assassin snatched onto the edge of a passing doorframe to stop his headlong rush, jerking against it and quickly pulling himself into the shadow of the indented doorway, just as the enemy cleared the corner. The patrol stopped and its captain—a lightly armored man who seemed little more than a member of the militia—lifted his torch in confusion as he glanced around for the flash of movement.

Ezio held his breath carefully, waiting rigidly and keeping his position until the group of soldiers finally moved on. As quiet fell once again, he let out a weary sigh and sank down onto the doorstep, dropping his head onto one hand and pulling his newly acquired cloak more tightly around him. The withdrawal was affecting his decisions, he realized bitterly. It dampened his focus, impaired his judgment. At this point, movement would be foolish, but stillness only more so.

A sudden clatter of motion from above broke his train of thought, and he looked up sharply, dark eyes fixing instinctively upon the figure running over the roof edges across from him. The gray, cross-marked cape was familiar, the form unmistakable. His lips thinned into a grim line. Already he was too late—if Vincenzo was here, Leonardo was likely not far behind.

The threat on his friend's life was suddenly, painfully real, and he dragged himself to his feet without hesitating. This Templar was his only lead, he reminded himself firmly, pulling in a readying breath. He could not risk losing him.

He took off at a run before he could change his mind, pushing himself almost in an attempt to leave his exhaustion behind. He followed the flash of gray as it leapt between buildings, seeming to trace a set path along the darkened side streets. The man was doubtlessly searching for him, evidently surveying the alleys for the escaped  _Assassino_. It would not take him long to realize he was being tailed.

Sure enough, just as they reached the long shadow of one of the fortress guard towers, Vincenzo abruptly vanished. Ezio slowed to a standstill, his chest heaving, and his breath rattling emptily in the silence. His eyes narrowed as he swept a gaze over the many rooftops surrounding the small plaza, vaguely sensing the Templar nearby, likely readying for an attack. He shifted his stance, knowing that he had not the strength for an extended fight. The first strike would be the last.

However, the wait stretched from seconds into minutes, and he began to wonder if he had been mistaken, if the hunter had simply turned in another direction and had missed him completely. In a final attempt to coax the enemy from hiding, he glanced about and deliberately raised his left arm, priming the pistol set next to his hidden blade and lifted the weapon for a blind shot.

These crows—the doctor, the hunter, and all their fellows who sought only prestige and coin—were selfish men, protective of their prey. There was no chance that this Templar would allow him to fire, and call in other predators within hearing.

The incoming flash of motion was expected, but the Assassin found that his reactions were sluggish, his weakened body unable to cope with the screeched warning of his eagle spirit. He gritted his teeth as the throwing knife only narrowly missed burying into his left arm, ricocheting instead against the bracer and grazing the side of his face. He took a seemingly unsteady step back, moving closer to the tall building behind him as he finally heard the anticipated, incoming rush of wind from above.

He glanced up and briefly wondered if this was what many of his own targets had last seen before they were torn from the world: the image of a dark phantom descending upon them, trailing the glimmer of a blade. However, this thought lingered only fleetingly, and he swiftly moved into a counter.

The Templar's strike was skilled, he could admit, but this attack, this raptor-like dive, was not his. The airborne kill belonged to the Assassins, and to assault an eagle with its own tactics was beyond foolish.

Ezio pivoted and leapt powerfully against the wall just behind him, throwing himself skywards and colliding bodily with his enemy's back. Vincenzo gave a clipped cry as the other skillfully intercepted his attack, catching him on the wing and burying both hidden blades into the Templar's shoulders from behind.

They hit the ground one after the other and tumbled, the nobleman stubborn to release his hold. They eventually rolled to a halt, and Ezio managed to steady himself on one knee, grabbing handfuls of the gray cape, and feeling warm blood guttering from the wounds as he deftly pinned the other man down.

"Argh-! Filthy Assassin!" the hunter bit out furiously as he thrashed, but he was unable to escape the determined grip and the press of the blades.

"Enough, Templar," the eagle snapped in response, trying to control his gasping breaths as Vincenzo finally stilled, glancing over his shoulder with shaded eyes narrowed hatefully. "I know you must have traveled here with Leonardo—where is he?"

The man sneered up at him, defiant, but traces of fear rang in his forced tone. "I can't even understand why you care. Both you and I know that he is no friend of yours."

"I asked you a question," Ezio growled back, anger and impatience lacing his voice. "Just  _tell_  me where he is."

"If you'd only look around, you'll find the answer for yourself."

"I am in no mood for your mind games," the nobleman snarled, his entire being livid as he mercilessly pushed his weapons deeper, grazing bone. " _Answer_ me."

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew that this was not like him, knew that he was being unreasonable and overly incited. The drug-induced addiction was getting to him, and his blood boiled unnaturally, his eagle driven wild in compensation of the pain and fatigue in his body.

His nerves were high strung, thus at the sudden sound of a footstep at his back, he reacted on raw instinct. He turned and sprang towards the figure blindly, jerking his blades free of the fallen Templar in a spray of red, and turning them instead on the new enemy. He lashed out like a wounded beast, feeling one of his wrist blades tear through cloth and flesh, and hearing a pain-filled cry that only fed his blood lust.

The Assassin tackled the other man rather forcefully to the ground, snatching onto the arm that feebly attempted to ward off his attack, and drawing back his free hidden blade for a finishing strike. His brown eyes were dulled, narrowed with fury and turmoil, but they widened as the voice spoke again, sounding past the cloud of rage.

"Stop,  _amico mio_ -!"


	14. Chapter 14

Ezio completely froze, his right arm still raised in mid-strike, unable to look away from the pained blue gaze, fixed steadfastly upon his face. The arm he had pinned was trembling ever slightly, the gash he had dealt across it deep and searing, spreading a stain of blood across his friend's patterned doublet. Finally, in horror, the Assassin began to pull away, but Leonardo snatched onto his sleeve before he could stand, his expression determined regardless of the ache that clouded it.

"Threaten me," the artist murmured quietly, his voice almost inaudible even to the eagle's sharp hearing, glancing significantly over the other's shoulder before meeting his eyes again, resolute.

Thoroughly confused, the nobleman said nothing in response at first, until he remembered the Templar mere steps away, unmoving for now, but listening. This was an opportunity for him to dispel the doubt on Leonardo's reputation; he realized a little distantly, a means to convince the enemy that the engineer was still on their side.

"Ezio, what are you doing?" Leonardo finally spoke aloud, his tone wavering as if from apprehension, but the Assassin saw none of the emotion in his eyes. A ruse, then.

"…I trusted you," he replied tightly, playing along despite the fact that all he wished to do was recoil and beg forgiveness, to find some way to absolve himself from wounding the closest man he had to a brother. His head was throbbing, the ache worsened by his inner conflict, but he fought to keep his words steady as he continued, "You deliberately sent me into a trap, practically handed me over to the Templars. I cannot just allow this to pass."

"Let him go, Assassin. We still need him."

Ezio glanced over at the hunter who had approached to stand rigidly next to him, his stance commendably steady in spite of the injuries to his back, and the pistol of his switchblade leveled to the hooded one's temple. How perverse, the eagle reflected dully. To think, his enemy was the one acting as Leonardo's guardian, protecting the artist from him of all people.

"This is not the first time you've placed a gun to my head, Templar," he reminded him flatly, outwardly unruffled. "Do you truly think you can even begin to stand up to me? Five times you have faced me, and five times you have failed. Just run along and fetch reinforcements if you must, I will be happy to deal with you after I have finished with this  _traditore_."

Vincenzo frowned, his conviction obviously swayed by pain, and by fear of this man who looked upon him with such coldness, such dead detachment: the eyes of a demon. The hunter took a hesitant step back, before turning and taking off at a sprint, swiftly vanishing back into the maze of alleyways.

The Assassin listened to his retreating steps until they had faded, and only then did he wearily move aside, sitting next to the artist on the cold stones with his face shaded by the hood of his cloak. "I'm so sorry, Leonardo," he said almost brokenly, his voice unnaturally faint.

"There is no need to apologize,  _amico mio_ ," the other answered gently, straightening unsteadily to a sit and clasping a firm grip on his friend's shoulder to reassure him.

Ezio looked up slowly, meeting the artist's gaze a little hollowly. "At least let me bandage your arm," he said quietly, reaching for the injured limb.

"Don't worry, I can do it myself later," Leonardo responded decisively, waving him off. "You… you have been through too much already. Allow me to attend to you first."

The Assassin had not the energy to protest, merely watching the other as he shifted closer to him, pressing his right arm distractedly to his chest to stem the bleeding. The pain seemed not to bother the artist any longer and, indeed, his thoughts were elsewhere. Though Leonardo said nothing about it, his friend's temperament worried him, he so wildly violent one moment, then so vacant and lethargic, the next.

"Look at me, Ezio," the engineer said firmly, reaching out and touching a hand to the other's forehead. The skin burned against Leonardo's palm, and as the eagle lifted his eyes to his face, he too easily noticed the blank, dilated pupils. Evidence of drug abuse, he noted, fighting to keep his mind detached, and focused only on his work. In truth, seeing his friend so wounded and empty pained him, but he needed to set his sights on helping him, on finding out what had torn him so.

Moving on this thought, he brushed a thumb over the right side of the Assassin's neck, checking the skin by the carotid artery, and sure enough, Ezio flinched visibly as he touched upon an inflamed patch of flesh. He carefully examined the raised pinprick, guessing it was testament to a forced point of entry, likely from a needle. A run in with a Templar doctor then, he finally concluded, most probably one armed with an intravenous sedative, a poison-like opioid.

"Forgive me,  _amico mio_ , there's not much I can do," Leonardo said after a pause, a frown creasing his brow. "The drug they must have given you is powerfully addictive; your body is shutting down for want of it."

"I noticed," the nobleman growled out in response, his tone cynical. However, upon realizing his ingratitude, he quickly added, "I'm sorry, this is not your fault. I depend on you too much." The other did not reply, silently accepting his friend's irritation, and instead pressed a water skin into his hands, looking into the dulled brown eyes with concern.

"Drink first, Ezio. There is not much time."

Hesitating only briefly, the Assassin obediently raised the container to his lips, wincing at first, as the liquid seemed to scratch against his long-parched throat, but gulping it down nevertheless. The cool water enlivened his strength and his senses somewhat, but it also served to remind him of the clenching emptiness of his stomach, of the unnatural warmth of his skin. He truly detested the confines of sickness.

"I wish I could give you something more," the artist said sincerely, watching him with solemn eyes. "All you can really do is sleep off the withdrawal, and weather the symptoms until they fade. You can stay in this guard tower, the watch fires here are always lit, but there are never any sentries."

"I don't have time to rest," Ezio countered stubbornly, though inwardly he knew he barely had the conviction left to move. "Leonardo, I've already put you in danger by asking for your help. If I do not divert the Templars' attention, they will come after you-"

"Stop thinking as if you need to do this alone."

The Assassin fell silent with slight bewilderment, and the artist offered him a gentle smile as he continued, "Before I left  _Firenze_ , I sent la Volpe to your uncle. My summons here could have only meant that the siege was about to take place, which doubtlessly suggested that you had been incapacitated.  _Signore_  Mario would have personally held me responsible if he had not been the first to know—his  _mercenari_  should be here for you by dawn."

The nobleman nodded, a trace of a smile at the thought of his uncle already reprimanding him for his carelessness, but he was not quick to deviate from his concern. "But what of you?"

"I will be fine, Ezio," Leonardo said smoothly, his voice almost forcibly level. "The Templars have no reason to doubt me after they hear Vincenzo's account of your threatening me; not to mention after they see the grievous injury you left me with."

There was a stretch of silence here, and the Assassin finally spoke slowly, apprehensive of the suggestion he feared would follow, "I know it was far from a shallow strike, but I would not really call the slash I gave you grievous."

"Of course not. I am referring to the injury you are about to give me right now," the artist said nonchalantly, spreading an arm to one side as if to offer himself.

"Leonardo-"

"Don't argue with me,  _amico mio_ ," he interrupted rather sharply, meeting the other's gaze with almost obstinate resolve.

"How can I not? Leonardo, I would rather take my own life than ever lay a blade on you again," Ezio said flatly, his eyes narrowed, and his tone rather dangerous even at the sheer mention of the act.

"Then give me one of your weapons, and I will do it myself," the artist said impatiently, reaching out for one of the hidden blades with his uninjured arm. The eagle pulled back swiftly, out of his reach.

"No. I refuse to let you."

"It is better this way, Ezio," Leonardo said in frustration, climbing to his feet and approaching the still unmoving Assassin. "I… I fear I will not be able to hide your location if they force the answer from me, and you simply  _cannot_  be captured again. Not only will you likely not survive, your allies need you. Only you can let them into the fortress and give them a fighting chance."

"Then come with me," the nobleman pressed, rather precariously gaining his feet as well, and denying the possibility that this was the only way. "I was against you working for the Templars from the beginning, you need not stay with them any longer."

"Unfortunately, that is not for you to decide," the artist spoke, glancing over his shoulder towards the alleyways, and knowing that the city guards could not be far. "I am where I am needed,  _amico mio_ , and the only way I can keep this position is if they no longer think I am your ally."

Ezio faltered, seeing reason, but refusing to believe it. "…Please, don't ask me to do this," he said quietly, his hands fisted at his sides.

"I am not asking."

The punch aimed at him was slow, and obviously unskilled—Leonardo was no warrior—thus the Assassin caught it easily, holding the fist away. Exasperated, he sighed, " _Amico_ , even if you attack me, I am not going to-"

The second strike, a surprisingly powerful backhand, caught him squarely across the face, and he staggered, the migraine flaring painfully behind his eyes. His eagle gave an indignant cry, reacting instinctively in a counter, however, Ezio managed to stay his blade just as he drew it, stopping himself before he could even graze his friend.

However, this seemed to be all Leonardo was waiting for, as he swiftly grabbed the Assassin's arm, gripping precisely onto the weapon's release mechanism to keep the knife from retracting. Terrified for once in his life, not for his own blood, but for that of his brother, Ezio attempted to jerk away, desperately trying to stop the act he knew was coming, however, he was already too late.

The artist took a step forward, deftly and fearlessly pressing the hidden blade into his own chest. The nobleman heard the tear of muscle and flesh, felt the heat of the fresh crimson staining his hand, but his attention was fixed only upon the blue eyes looking into his, resolute, but also apologetic. He found he could not speak, completely swayed as he was by the selfless act, and only just managed to catch the other as his legs gave out from under him.

"Leonardo-!"

"... _Idiota_ , I'm not going to die," the other managed to gasp out, gripping onto the Assassin's arm for support as he was lowered into a crouch. "You… you know I have studied human anatomy. This was not... a fatal blow. Now leave… quickly, before the guards come."

"How can you just tell me to go after this?" Ezio bit out angrily, enraged more with himself than with his friend.

"Get out of here already, or else this… this will only be a waste," Leonardo said tightly, his breath catching noticeably in his chest as he glared up at the eagle. "Regain your strength… and go to meet the others at the southern gate at day break. Don't worry, the Templars need me… they will not let me die."

The sounds of an approaching crowd were steadily growing louder, but still the Assassin did not move. "I am not abandoning you in this state," he growled out, gripping onto the other's arm. "I cannot leave your life in the hands of Templars."

Fear for his friend's safety only sparked anger, thus the artist pushed rather violently against Ezio's chest, shoving him away. "Know your duties,  _amico mio_ ," he said harshly, forcing words out past the waver in his voice. "Do not be so selfish."

The eagle only stared at him for a span, indecision visible in his eyes. Then, he gave an audible snarl of frustration, turning sharply on his heel, and hurrying back into the shadowed side streets towards the cover of the abandoned guard tower. Fleeing from a fight had always been difficult for him, but never before had it weighted so heavily upon his conscience and his heart.


	15. Chapter 15

A startled gasp and a sharp clatter of wood awoke him; and at this, the Assassin raised his head slowly, glowering at the one that had disturbed him. The terrified man stared at the figure coiled in the corner of the guard tower, mostly masked by a dark cloak, but his narrowed eyes starkly visible, reflecting the dying embers of the brazier between them.

The other was no more than a common laborer, Ezio realized, uninterested, simply one who had come to tend to the now smoldering watch fire. Deliberately, he stood, allowing the brown cloth to slide off him, and leisurely flicking free one of his hidden blades. The flash of white and gleaming metal was more than enough to break the worker's resolve, and he scrambled back the way he had come, his panicked movements clattering against the ladder, clear back down to the base of the tower.

As the sound of intrusion faded, the nobleman sighed and relaxed his stance, allowing his weapon to retract. He distractedly brushed the sleep from his eyes, honestly surprised that he had actually managed to drift off, and paced the few steps to the edge of the low-roofed room. Here, he lifted his face to the wind, leaning against the old wood railing he had been curled up against for the better part of the night, and absently scanning the horizon.

The sky was faintly light, illuminated by the coming sun. Dawn was less than an hour away, reminding him of the need to return to his mission. At the sudden memory, Ezio scowled, clenching one fist and staring at the blade bound to it, the metal still lightly tainted with the last blood he had shed. Though the sight stirred turmoil within him, the unbridled rage was gone now, dissipated along with the remnants of toxin, and leaving only a frigid calm and tempered anger, a sword point of conviction. The Templars' plans had been allowed to progress too far. Today, they would end.

He vaulted easily onto the railing and leapt into empty space, drawing in a breath of cold air, and almost smiling at the passing slipstream, the feeling of freedom he had sorely missed. He twisted once as he fell, landing shoulder first in a mound of hay piled neatly on the ground, but catching himself in a roll, and regaining his feet in the space of a breath. None noticed him as he casually joined the crowd, walking swiftly and purposefully before the laborers could even begin to comprehend the presence of the pale shadow moving amongst them.

The Assassin lifted his gaze only upon reaching the sloped, imposing height of the city walls; its black stones sheer, and yielding no evidence of passage to its peak. Thus instead, he glanced towards one of the adjacent buildings, fixing upon one level with the parapets, and beginning to climb it without a second thought. His body hampered him slightly, starved and worn from the constant movement and battle, but these were natural aches, and he pushed them easily from his mind.

Upon reaching the rooftop, he looked across the yawning gap with slight frustration, only now realizing that the range was precarious, just about too wide for him to jump. He fell to a crouch to avoid drawing attention, sweeping a scrutinizing glare out to both sides and futilely attempting to find another means across. He simply did  _not_  have time for this—the others would arrive soon, and if they came upon a closed gate, the fortress archers would slaughter them within minutes.

Somewhat brazenly, he climbed to his feet, backing up several steps to allow for momentum, and taking off towards the sheer drop at a run. His eagle spirit, subdued for so long, beat its wings powerfully, screeching out audacity to the very odds against him. He hurled himself across the gap, reaching out determinedly, and managing to catch the very lip of one of the battlements.

He hit the stones heavily, and his hold very nearly slipped; however he braced both feet rather stubbornly against the wall, fighting for purchase on the narrowest of cracks and ledges. He hissed a curse as pain shot through his fingers, protesting against bearing the weight of his entire body, but he struggled to gain the peak, ignoring the wall's lack of traction, and the several feet between him and the street below.

It took a moment of struggle, but he finally managed to pull himself up, his chest heaving a little from the adrenaline of the rather careless feat. Shaking off the setback, he hurried along the walls, heading towards the wide tower that protected the lever mechanism of the southern gate. The guards in the slightly elevated room lit up clearly to his eagle's eyes, a lazy scattering of scarlet flames bleeding out through the windows, and he knew that ending them would not be difficult.

There were a few archers scattered at strategic points along the parapets between him and the tower, thus Ezio quickened his pace into a headlong sprint, returning to his tactics of dive and strike. He did not hesitate, though heads turned in his direction and bowstrings sang out, only sweeping out his twin blades towards them in response. Bodies collapsed in his wake, no more than a handful, but the eagle could not help but feel invigorated, relishing in the return of his reflexes.

The gate tower was before him now, and here the Assassin lunged forward, jumping off against the windowsill and plunging straight into the midst of the enemy. These night watchmen, wearied from their prolonged vigil, took a stretched, bleary moment to comprehend the threat. Finally, one raised a shout of alarm, but the space was narrow, and the soldiers many, thus panic did much of his work for him. Ezio merely swerved between them, a flickered shadow, skillfully evading the frantic sword strikes and gloved fists, and listening to the sharp cries as the Templar men only served to hit each other.

There was a moment of paused confusion as many of the guards stumbled back, nursing shallow cuts and inadvertent bruises, and finishing them proved almost ridiculously easy. They fell with slit throats and torn chests, however one made a last valiant attempt to rebuke the Assassin, running at him and pointedly ignoring the blood spilling from his mouth and gut. Ezio staggered, giving an impatient growl as the man threw his weight against him bodily, shoving him backwards dangerously close to the edge.

As the soldier clung powerfully to his arm and sleeve, driven by the demonic strength of a dying man, the nobleman fought to keep his footing, the back of his legs already pressed against the low window ledge that threatened to trip him, and cast him down to the stones below. His blades were pinned, the guard determined to keep him from lashing out, thus he kicked out instead, knocking the man off balance and pivoting around him to deftly reverse their positions.

The soldier, so bent on pushing forward as far as he could, tumbled out into open air, carried by his own momentum. The eagle panted quietly as he watched the body plummet and hit the ground, bouncing once before rolling to a halt in a crumpled heap, right at the feet of a rather familiar, elaborately armored guard.

A golden facemask turned to look up at the tower, and the Assassin met his gaze with lowly burning contempt, effortlessly recognizing the papal captain, the cause of so much of his grief in these past days. The two men stared at each other a moment, unmoving, before Ezio turned his back blatantly, moving away from the window.

They were coming for him now, surely, but he could not yet open the gate, could not risk alerting them further by raising the portcullis too early. The Templars did not know he had help arriving, likely assuming he was only attempting to escape on his own, and indeed, the element of surprise was one of the few advantages his allies held.

This thought prompted him to look out towards the horizon, his eagle's vision sharpening his gaze, and sure enough, he caught sight of a detachment moving swiftly under the cover of the thinning darkness.

They were a small company, all mounted but largely indistinguishable from this distance, weaving between the tall, silent forms of the siege towers arranged about the fortress. These men who came for him were no army, so unlike the invasion force they now faced, but were instead a single, concentrated group; taking skill and aptitude over numbers and power, in the tradition of their Creed.

The eagle studied them from above, slowly recognizing several of the uniformed mercenaries of Monteriggioni, as well as some of la Volpe's own, thieves off the streets of  _Firenze_. It was evident by their numbers that they were not here to scatter the Templar's siege forces; and truly it would be foolish to face the enemy on their own ground. They were here to collect him, no more.

But this did not mean they were not willing to cause a little damage while they did so, and as he watched, a single torch flame flared up at the front of the group, sparked into life by the man leading the troop. The fire was passed between men, each touching their own torches to those of their fellows, until each gripped a bright, flickering beacon.

They then parted, moving in surprisingly practiced formation, and setting each siege tower they passed ablaze. The flames were small at first, seeming to gutter harmlessly at the foot of the imposing structures; but with time they began to climb at an alarming rate, eating through the dry wood with vicious ferocity.

Realizing his own role in this distraction, the Assassin moved swiftly towards the western wall, the one he had not yet passed through, remembering the archers still stationed there. As he jumped lightly through the window, he caught sight of half a score of soldiers, armed with cross and long bows, rallying to repel the attackers. Their eyes were fixed forward, to the base of the wall, and none noticed the phantom until it was too late.

Ezio threw himself amongst them, burying his blade deep through cloth and mail and flesh, and scattering red life and clipped screams as the archers died. Several volleys missed him narrowly, catching at the edges of his uniform, but he paid them no heed, only focusing on bringing down the men who were attempting to fire upon his comrades.

The second the last of them had fallen, he glanced up and saw an approaching regiment running along the walls towards him—distant due to the need to climb the stairs of one of the watchtowers—thus he turned quickly on his heel and retreated back into the gate tower.

He peered out onto the grounds of the fortress and grinned a little darkly at the columns of smoke and crumbling embers. The mercenaries and thieves had done their jobs well. Though now, they were regrouping, moving back into a single formation and heading towards the still-closed portcullis. The nobleman cocked his head slightly as the man leading the group looked up and met his eyes squarely, offering a friendly salute. He recognized him as a teacher of his from Monteriggioni, one of  _Zio_  Mario's right hand men.

Swiftly, Ezio began to wind the gate's pulley system, the gears and chains grinding out piercingly as the barricade was raised. The work was slow, but eventually, the sound of panicked cries in the streets signaled that his allies had slipped easily into the city, continuing their burning and commotion there without hesitation.

With the gate fully raised, he took up one of the fallen long swords and wedged it into the mechanism, jamming and locking it to keep their escape route clear. His work complete, he picked up another of the rapiers and sheathed it at his waist, heading quickly back out onto the walls.

The Assassin landed in a crouch, but as he began to regain his feet, his eagle spirit gave a cried warning, and instead he dove instinctively sideward. The thrown spear struck the stones with a sharp clatter, just missing him, and he looked up to see another company of guards charging towards him, numbering at nearly a dozen.

He took a slight step back, knowing he had not the time to fight them off, wavering uncertainly until he heard someone call his name from inside the fortress walls. A little startled, he looked off to the side and saw one of the  _Firenze_  thieves on the roof of an adjacent building, gripping the chimney and stretching out one arm towards him.

Ezio did not pause for thought, running quickly to the edge of the battlements and jumping out into the void. The other man caught his arm with a grunt, slowing his momentum and swinging him onto the balcony of the house. Together, they descended, listening to the clamor and shouts of battle raging just below them. The streets were clogged with workers, and soldiers, and panicked horses—a mercenary had evidently burned through one of the corrals to free the beasts—fleeing from the wrath of the choking flames.

Some of the steeds trailed the straps and buckles of half-affixed tack, likely having broken away from their riders in the middle of being saddled. The nobleman caught onto the reins of a passing stallion, running alongside it a few steps, before vaulting onto its back. The lightly furred horse shook its head in slight irritation, arching its neck to look back at him.

The Assassin met its deep, baleful gaze, and in recognition, he smiled and said quietly, "We meet again,  _amico_." The white stallion merely snorted once before it slowed its pace, responding calmly to the tug of the reins. As he turned the beast around however, he paused abruptly, catching sight of the fortress stronghold he had been searching for since he had escaped the papal guards.

No doubt the Templar  _comandante_  was there, lying in wait, but to attempt to face him would put his allies in danger, and already they had risked so much in simply coming for him. He could not be self-centered and waste their concern. He tore his eyes from the  _palazzo_  and urged his horse instead towards the gate at a gallop, silently promising the faceless commander that he would be back for him.

As he rode, the other mercenaries converged at his sides, discarding their torches absently and calling out greetings to him. Ezio answered their enthusiasm with some amusement, but as he glanced back, he recognized the rigid formation and gleaming armor of the company of papal soldiers closing in behind them. The guards of the Vatican were mounted and focused, ignoring and even trampling the confused masses as they followed closely on the heels of the fleeing group.

The eagle swept out one arm in a signal to the men around him, and together they tore forward, riding ahead of the enraged Templar forces and roaring flames that marked their escape.


	16. Chapter 16

The blinding color and heavy smoke of the fires swiftly vanished over the horizon, however the papal guards were not nearly as quick to be left behind. The heavy weapons and armor weighted the Templars' steeds, lagging them a significant distance behind the mercenaries, however the Assassin knew that the gap between them would not last for long. The enemy warhorses were doubtlessly trained for long distances—not to mention that they were fresh and well rested—and it would only be a matter of time until they were overtaken.

"It's been a while,  _ragazzo_ ," a voice spoke up rather cheerily from his shoulder, distracting his thoughts. The Assassin looked over to the older man,  _maestro_ Raul if he remembered correctly, and offered him a slightly wry smile in response.

"I suppose I should thank you all for coming for me," he said, calling out lightly over the rush of wind that swept by them on all sides. "However, I admit, I was expecting a larger force. Is there a second attack on the fortress planned?"

"You worry about Leonardo da Vinci, I'm guessing?" the mercenary questioned, amused. "I don't think you need to, boy. He was the one who told us how to extract you after all, and even gave us a plan to stop the invasion without having to completely destroy the fortress. I think he knows what he's doing."

"A plan?" The nobleman frowned a little in thought, and glanced over his shoulder at the dust kicked up by the battalion of horses several lengths behind them. "I'm assuming getting chased out of the city is factored into the plan, then?"

"Actually, it is," Raul answered brightly, following his gaze and looking over the enemy force quite calmly. "When we reach Firenze, you'll understand."

"Perhaps, but I doubt we will make it that far," Ezio said dubiously, some concern in his tone. He tugged on his horse's reins, beginning to move it away from their own force. "At least let me hold them off for a while, it's the least I can do."

Abruptly, the head mercenary intercepted him, grabbing onto the white stallion's bridle and dragging it back into formation rather forcefully. "Always the hero, aren't you? Right now, you wouldn't last five seconds against those men," he said bluntly. "Just stay here."

A little affronted at being treated like a child, Ezio ground out, "I am simply offering to help."

"And it isn't necessary," Raul countered firmly. "You need to put a little more faith in us, Ezio; or if not in us, at least in that artist friend of yours. This is still part of his plan, and we need Borgia's guards alive and in full force when we get to the city."

The Assassin's brow furrowed, and he began to ask why, but the other cut him off, shouting an order to the men around them and bearing them towards a mountain pass leading to Florence. His instructor, uncompromising as ever, seemed to have turned a deaf ear upon him, thus Ezio simply shook his head and followed, rigidly aware of the Templars steadily gaining ground behind them.

However, his tension proved to be unwarranted, for as they passed through the narrow, walled-in path, his eagle pricked its head up in attention, sensing the presence of several people, unseen, but all around them. The nobleman turned in the saddle to look back towards the sky edges of the cliff, and caught sight of several more mercenaries crouching there, ready.

Even as he watched, the papal guards made to move between the ridges, but the men above them—for now, unnoticed—opened fire, hurling a series of round projectiles down to the path, before fleeing into the safety of the rocks. Bright, pinprick-like flash bangs went off, the light and the sound enough to startle the horses, and almost immediately afterwards, the group was swallowed by a thick cloud of choking smoke.

"They are too persistent to allow mere smoke stop them," Ezio said thoughtfully, meeting his teacher's eye as the whole group began to ride along the crest of a grassy hill, off the path. "However, you planned for that, didn't you? The ambush could have killed them with rocks or arrows, but they did not. Why?"

"I told you, we need them," Raul replied with a smirk, the spark of withheld information evident in his eye. "This is only the first of many small ambushes, but those are just for us to keep out of reach and to goad the papal soldiers even further. But in the end, they have to get to Firenze."

"You are still not answering me," the Assassin said a little irritably, knowing the other was being unhelpful on purpose. He still held respect for this man who had instructed him so closely in swordplay, almost as much as his uncle had, but he still did not appreciate being kept in the dark. "Would it not endanger the city to let a force like this near them? We can take them out now and be done with it."

"Patience,  _ragazzo_. I know you're raring for a fight as always, but you should remember your own limits. You were a captive a few hours ago, remember?"

A little stung, Ezio fell silent, but the older man continued in a slightly gentler tone, "You really need to learn to depend on others a little more, boy. We are your allies for a reason; you shouldn't keep taking all the burden on your own shoulders."

As the other offered him a tentative smile, Raul glanced back and commented brightly, "Ah, look, see the plan is working."

The eagle looked over his shoulder in confusion, and his eyes widened a little as he swiftly jerked against his mount's reins, pulling it to one side to narrowly evade the airborne halberd. The near-fatal lance stabbed instead through the ground, gouging a large amount of turf before tumbling harmlessly down the grassy rise. Ezio shot an incredulous look towards his instructor, but the man only laughed and said, "Not bad. I suppose you haven't quite reached your limits yet. Now come, the next ambush is through here."

This pursuit stretched for quite a while, continuing until the sun had soared high over the horizon, until all the running horses' lips and necks were slicked with foam. Ezio was grateful that the stallion he had taken was in good shape, still going strong even as the steeds around it began to fail, however his mind was elsewhere, wondering on the plan Leonardo had apparently orchestrated. In a lull of the chase, as the plains around them grew tame with farmlands, and the city of Florence rose up from the distance, the nobleman finally understood.

He remembered the last time the papal forces had been in Firenze—the last time he too had been there, before leaving for the Vatican—during the short but severe rule of Savonarola. In order to retrieve the Piece of Eden from the monk, Borgia had sent numerous soldiers, all bearing the papal colors, into the city. They had burned a brand of blood and chaos into the already broken streets in their attempts to take back the Apple, and the affront was not one the populace was likely to forget so quickly.

The dawning comprehension must have shown on his face, for Raul moved his steed up to his and said, "You finally understand, then? Imagine Firenze's reaction when they see a full battalion of papal soldiers approaching. Even if some of the local guards are Templars, they won't be able to calm the masses until they lock down the entire city."

"I see," Ezio spoke slowly, rather impressed. "And after you burned most of their towers, the Templars won't be able to lay siege to such a large, fortified city; at least not until they are able to rebuild."

"Exactly," the mercenary said with a rather approving nod. "But that's not quite the end of it yet, since we still need to get rid of the papal soldiers afterwards. That's where you come in—though  _messere_  da Vinci was pretty insistent that you be kept from the plan if you were not ready."

"I will be fine. Just tell me what needs to be done."

It was approaching midday by the time the chase had drawn to a close, however the Assassin could yet sense the fresh rage of his enemies as they drew close to where he sat upon his still mount, unmoving and alone on a wide, sloped road some distance from the city gate. Ezio never thought that he would welcome the sight of Firenze's portcullis locked tightly or even the irritating din of the alarm bells and panicked townsmen just beyond it, yet now, to him they meant that his hometown would remain safe.

His white stallion shifted slightly in distress or anticipation as the papal guards, numbering at a dozen, came within mere feet of them. He calmed it with a quiet word, however his eyes did not leave the approaching soldiers, nor his hand the hilt of his sword.

"Of course, still trying to take all the glory for yourself," the papal captain growled out from the front of the group, his voice grating from the dust of the road and the irritation of the smoke bombs that he and his troop had needed to weather. "Where are your supposed allies? Did you change your mind about using them as human shields?"

"You are one to talk," Ezio responded coldly, smoothly drawing his blade. The rapier was unfamiliar, its balance awkward in his hand, though in retrospect he realized that the unsteadiness was merely a result of his slowly creeping exhaustion, of the dragging weight of facing the Spaniard, of escaping capture and of recovering from the doctor's drug, all steadily bearing upon his stamina. He would welcome rest when this was finished.

At a shout from their captain, the heavily armored men drove forward, pushing their panting steeds down the incline of the path. The Assassin drew a steadying breath before spurring his own horse to meet them, his sword swept out to one side, and his left hidden blade held coiled against his chest, ready to take advantage of any small opening.

The long weapons held an advantage even on horseback, and Ezio found he needed to struggle simply to avoid being swept from the saddle. He deflected most of the first shafts as they came for him; however, after they had passed, he realized that the guards were wide open for a counter. He stabbed his blade back as one soldier swept by particularly close to his left, twisting around enough to slide the narrow metal clear between armor and bone, burying it into spine through the gap at the base of the helmet.

The papal guard fell, but the eagle was already moving again, sweeping his rapier towards the one jabbing at his other side, and lashing him forcefully in the back of the head to knock him from his steed. The guard hit the dirt and was promptly trampled by his fellow who had been following close behind him.

Ezio's stallion brayed in pain as the edge of another spear nicked its cheek, aimed as it was towards the Assassin's chest. He snarled and caught the coming cross edge against his blade, stopping its advance abruptly, and shoving it back towards its wielder, driving the blunt end of the haft into the man's face.

Three men were on the ground by the time the entire force had surged past him, and the Assassin whirled his horse around to face them again, feeling the beast shivering somewhat under him as it began to grow as exhausted as he was. "Come on," he called stridently to the enemy, forcing his breath out past the catch in his throat. "There is only one of me."

Three more of the soldiers charged towards him in response, their steeds shoulder to shoulder, and their weapons leveled in a wide, lethal strike. Realizing that he would not be able evade or deflect the encompassing attack, Ezio pivoted his horse to face away from the enemy, swiftly shifting into a crouch on the saddle and springing from there towards the glinting halberds. He only narrowly cleared the hungry blades as their wielders attempted to follow his movement, and instead connected heavily with the middle soldier, a wrist blade cleaving deep into his face mask, between his eyes.

Deftly, he tore the corpse from the saddle, instead taking his place and catching up the reins of the enemy's horse. Both men on either side of him reached out to bodily pull him off as he began to turn the steed around, however he simply met their hands with blades. He slashed at their mailed arms, keeping them from grabbing him long enough to urge the stolen horse forward, heading straight towards the papal captain.

"Stop him! Take him, now!" the man cried as he realized his impending death, his voice twined with rage and a measure of fear. Ezio raised his rapier for a lunge, however he failed to notice the papal guard rapidly approaching from his right, taking advantage of his fixed focus.

The Assassin had not the time to cry out as the other guard's horse intercepted his forcibly, jarring them all violently enough for both he and the Templar to be thrown to the ground and lose their weapons. He hit the path hard on his shoulder, biting back a snarl as the other man collided with him briefly, before tumbling away with his own momentum.

Ezio rolled to his feet, quickly leaping the few steps towards the still fallen man and ending him before he had the chance to rise. As he straightened though, he was all too quickly driven back into the ground, a second papal soldier jumping from the saddle and tackling him forcefully. The nobleman snarled as his wrists were pinned, kicking out towards the man who held him and nearly breaking free, until another guard swiftly came over to help.

The other soldiers circled, enclosing the Assassin in a careful cage of horses and bodies and spears. The two at his sides dragged him upright, fighting to keep a hold on him as he lashed out, both blades extended now, but yielding little result against the thickly ornamented armor.

"You have caused me far too much trouble, Ezio Auditore," the captain said venomously, dismounting and approaching the hooded one as he struggled, twisting viciously against the hands that gripped him, but unable to escape. The papal leader clenched a fist suddenly onto his collar, forcing his eyes into the light and jerking him uncomfortably close. "My orders were to bring you back alive, but trust me, you'll wish I had killed you instead."

Ezio stilled but did not waver, his lip pulled back in a sneer. "Such arrogant talk for someone who made his men do all the work."

The hand at his throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, holding back any sounds of discomfort. "Maybe I should blind you, Assassin," the man growled out, his incited glare not leaving the other's face. "An eagle without his eyes. I'd like to see you try to use that precious Vision of yours then."

The nobleman dropped his gaze, an act of weakness that prompted a loathing chuckle from the captain, until Ezio spoke out quietly, his voice even, despite the heavy grip on his neck, "Right now, you are the one who is blind, Templar."

The papal captain paused in confusion, beginning to speak out irritably, when abruptly cries of pain began to ring out from all around them. The Assassin glanced up in time to see the soldiers falling from their horses, none having noticed the approaching mercenaries, as their attention had been so fixed towards the center of the circle. The men holding him had grown distracted, thus it was easy to pull free, and Ezio swiftly snatched onto the papal captain's gold facemask with his left, staring into the suddenly fearful eyes as he pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out and he watched the body fall, the blood and flecks of shattered metal scattering into the dust. He panted quietly, standing motionless even as the last of the papal soldiers died around him, as the victorious cry was raised. He did not move until a hand fondly gripped his shoulder, shaking him enthusiastically as if to rouse him.

"It's over,  _ragazzo_ ," Raul said exuberantly, meeting the rather blank gaze with a grin. "We can finally head back to Monteriggioni. They're all waiting for you."

"But it isn't over yet," Ezio protested, frowning. "I need to go back to the fortress to-"

"To what? To fight the commander? To look for that friend of yours? Both of those can wait, Ezio, you need to rest. You look dead on your feet."

The Assassin said nothing, glancing from the concerned eyes of his teacher to the two ends of the path, to the west and to the east, wavering between the choices. He heard practicality in returning home to recover, however his instincts were flaring; his eagle crying out distantly, and telling him to return to the fortress for reasons he could not quite grasp. His body and spirit conflicted, one seeking rest, and one seeking blood, and for a long moment, he could only stand amongst the mercenaries, still silent, ambivalent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monteriggioni combat trainer was named "Raul", just to mirror "Rauf", the combat trainer of Masyaf.


	17. Chapter 17

It had been a few hours since the screaming and the flames had died down, yet still the scent of smoke weighted persistently on the air of the fortress. Leonardo had watched avidly from the narrow window of his room in the stronghold, though he was unable to see much of the activity by the south gate due to the angle and the distance. Nevertheless, the fire and chaos had brought a slightly skeptical, but honest smile to his lips, despite the fact that he had not caught even a glimpse of the white uniform he had been looking out for. The resulting commotion had been testament in itself.

He shifted from where he sat on the edge of the bed and winced slightly as the healing laceration on his chest stretched, seeming to throb dully in time to his heartbeat. He touched the neat bandages past his half-open doublet and frowned a little, remembering.

The Templars had come to his aid swiftly when they had discovered him injured, with more staying behind to take him to safety, than to search for the escaped _Assassino_. This had been lucky since, though he had been barely conscious from the rapid loss of blood, he had managed to catch the flash of movement, a figure marked by the flutter of a cloak halfway up the wall of a nearby guard tower, silently watching him. Had he been able to speak to Ezio, he would have scolded him for not fleeing immediately, for putting himself in further danger by checking on him.

Upon reaching the stronghold, doctors had tended to him, had cleaned and dressed the wound with practiced efficiency; yet the artist had not sensed a hint of sympathy or concern from any of them. They had barely seemed to see him as a person, had not so much healed him than repaired him, treating him more like a tool that been broken, an object worth mending only due to his usefulness. The realization should not have surprised him, yet it bothered him all the same.

This room, even, spoke of only thoughtlessly given care, its walls and floors of bare stone standing out starkly despite the elaborate furniture that filled it. Though, perhaps, this was simply because the entire stronghold was little more than a prison, a jail the Templars had adapted into a base, as it had been the strongest fortification in the small city they had invaded. The room they had given him was a cell; there was no denying it.

However, the injury and the lodgings were barely of any concern, and were quickly pushed from his mind when he remembered the words of a guard who had visited him, soon after his wounds had been treated. There had been something of an apology, the closest thing the brute of a man was willing to give, but it had been the mention that the  _comandante_  himself would be arriving to see him that had caught his attention.

He had asked a few, polite questions regarding their shadow of a leader, which were fortunately not unexpected, as most Templars of his rank only received orders indirectly, through lieutenants and captains, and never from the man himself. The guard had answered, though reluctantly, giving only clipped answers of the commander's name and standing, but that had been enough.

Ah, how he wished he had the means to alert the Assassins of this new piece of information, but to send a message from the stronghold was too risky, too suspicious. It would have to wait until they allowed him to return to Firenze.

There was a short creak of metal as the door to his room opened, and he quickly gained his feet, realizing that the lack of a knock could only mark his visitor as one person. The man who entered was young, dressed in a fine set of armor that befitted his rank, an unfeeling, half-smile upon his face as he strode into the room with an air of confidence that the artist had quite expected. Though the man was half his own age, Leonardo could not help but feel a measure of trepidation, a caution that arose from the very sense of foreboding the other seemed to exude.

Courteously, the artist lowered himself in a deep bow, hiding any signs of his intimidation as he spoke graciously, " _Comandante_  Borgia."

"Please, don't get up," Cesare spoke casually, waving off his formality. "I heard that you were injured by that troublesome Assassin. Not to worry, though, those responsible have been taken care of."

"Those responsible,  _signore_?" Leonardo questioned as he slowly sat back down, his tone smooth despite his inward concern.

"Yes, the man who was supposed to be protecting you—Vincenzo, I think his name was," the Templar said carelessly, pacing the room and pausing to look thoughtfully over the papers the other had left sprawled across his desk. "Failure is not tolerated, and I assure you, you will not be seeing that worthless hunter again. Though of course, we shall get you a new one, a competent one this time."

The artist thanked him, but silently, he felt a shred of revulsion. To this man, human lives were little more than things to be used and manipulated, items to be disposed of once they were no longer needed. Even the Assassins respected the men that they killed. It was something Cesare took from his father, he supposed.

There was a moment's pause before the man spoke again, and Leonardo was a little startled to find the commander looking at him intently, meeting his gaze with scrutinizing interest. "I have heard a lot about you,  _ingegnere_. Your designs and innovations have allowed our plans to progress more quickly than we had hoped," he said, the smirk still visible upon his bearded face, but the lightheartedness not quite reaching his eyes. "You are quite valuable, Leonardo da Vinci, thus I promise you that you will be compensated for your troubles."

"I only do what I must for the Templar cause,  _signore_ ," he responded easily, though honestly the phrase felt awkward to his tongue. For all his months in reconnaissance, he would never truly grow used to lying.

An abrupt, somewhat tentative knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Cesare gave a barked order for them to enter. A soldier, likely a long-distance courier based on his clothes, came into the room and fell respectfully onto one knee, a little breathless and dusty from what had evidently been a long travel.

"Report," the Templar commander said crisply, appearing to have been expecting the man.

The messenger gulped a breath before saying quickly, "The papal soldiers have been eliminated, sir, they fell to a series of  _condottieri_  ambushes. Firenze has gone into lock down, and the Assassin and his allies have returned to their base."

Leonardo hid a relieved smile at this. He had known Ezio would likely desire to come after him, would be hotheaded and determined as usual, thus he had specifically asked  _signore_  Mario to send someone to ensure he be brought back home to rest, by force if necessary. He hoped that his friend would forgive him for it, but the stubborn Assassin's wellbeing came first.

As the Templar dismissed the courier, he turned to Leonardo and commented, "It seems things are going better than I thought. I must go to attend to other business for now, however, I would like you at my side for the siege tomorrow, if you feel you are up to it."

The artist blinked in surprise before he caught himself. "It would be my honor,  _signore_ , although… forgive me, but I thought that the attack would be postponed?" he said hesitantly, rather involuntarily rising to his feet. "I do not mean to question your authority, but after the destruction of half the siege towers, I fear the remaining force may not be enough to withstand the defenses of a city as large and fortified as Firenze—"

"Ah, I forgot that you are too low-ranked to be informed. But that should change soon, I assure you," Cesare said dismissively, moving to stand before the other to meet his eyes squarely. "You are a smart man, Leonardo, I'm sure you have realized the pointlessness of attacking a city like Florence. Why would we bother picking up the scraps of the once-great Medici, especially when there is a much more desirable prize nearby? No, this invasion force was never organized to lay siege to that useless town, and the surplus of siege towers was only to deceive our enemies."

At this, the realization struck like a bolt of lightning, and the artist needed to struggle to remain calm, to keep the terror from his face. Still smiling coolly, the commander continued, "Yes, my friend, our true target was, and still is, the eagle's nest, Monteriggioni."


	18. Chapter 18

He had almost seemed to sleep the slumber of the dead, though still, it was a rustle, such a slight sound, which awoke him from it. High strung as his nerves yet were, Ezio's eyes flashed open as he shot upright, his left arm flicking outwards in a familiar movement. It took him a tense moment to realize the silence, the lack of a threat, and even the absence of a blade strapped to his forearm.

His harsh breathing grated hollowly in what he finally recognized as his own room, its shuttered windows letting in what little light the early dawn permitted. He had slept for almost an entire day, he realized ruefully, slowly relaxing his arm, and settling back against the headboard of his bed, distractedly checking the bandages bound around his shoulder and abdomen. The rest had done him well, he admitted, but still he felt uneasy for having ignored his instincts the previous day, for once having gone against the warnings of his eagle spirit.

The Assassin frowned and brushed a rather irritated hand across his eyes, wondering why his instructor had been so forceful yesterday. Raul had all but threatened to knock him unconscious in order drag him back to Monteriggioni, and he had only complied with reluctant obedience, honestly too exhausted at that point to refuse the insistence.

The mercenary had attempted to reassure him on the return trip, had said that the Templar force was likely incapacitated after their attack, subsequently restricting the  _comandante_  to the fortress. He was not going anywhere, his teacher had told him rather flippantly, even after a few days of respite.

And thus respite the nobleman had taken, though his impatience was evidently keeping him from further sleep. Remembering the sound that had roused him, Ezio tiredly climbed to his feet, pushing the bed covers from his bare chest as he searched for the half-open window he assumed had allowed in the disturbance.

He absently looked out over Monteriggioni's walls as he leaned out and reached for the shutter of the window, eying the hazily lit horizon with distracted attention. For some reason, he could not take his eyes from the orange light bleeding over the edge of the hills across the main city gate, and in some bleary confusion, he paused. His spirit keened in distress, and he, not wishing to ignore it for a second time, allowed his Vision to slip into focus.

The sight that burned into his eyes nearly stopped his heart, and as he realized that the supposed light of the sunrise he had been watching was coming from the south, and not the east, a great, menacing rush of air swirled towards him. The veritable expanse of red beyond the city walls, the flamed aura of a vast enemy force, seemed to writhe like a living beast, and from it, several projectiles emerged, and lanced through the air towards the city.

The sound of the solid impacts around him was deafening, and Ezio staggered backwards, shielding his face with one arm as one cannonball tore clear through the wall of his room, missing him by mere feet and sending a shattering of wood into the air. He coughed on the dust, staring out the ragged hole it had left with horrified eyes, seeing the incoming invasion, and the chaos it wrought.

Everywhere now, the splintering and crush of buildings could be heard, the city unable to withstand the merciless barrage. The catapult fire spread its damage thus, shattering through wood and stone, and sounding out like a terrible rain. Soon there was screaming as well, with citizens stumbling from their beds and fleeing their crumbling homes, many clutching belongings and loved ones to their chests as they spilled onto the streets.

Tearing his gaze from the horrific scene, the Assassin swiftly pulled on his clothes, pausing only to belt on his rapier and left hidden blade before vaulting out onto the roof. The air was thick with slivers of wood and the smoke from scattered fires, but through it, Ezio could see that his villa had taken severe damage, elevated as it was over the city.

Concern for his family arose, thus he leapt lightly onto the balcony of the second floor, ducking through shattered glass and torn curtains, and into the main hall. The servants of the villa were in a panic, pushing through the hallways towards the stairs, and through it, the nobleman caught sight of his mother and sister. He hurried to their side, gently grasping the elderly woman's arm and calling for Claudia to follow as he ushered them out towards the training field, shielding them as well as he could from the toppling furniture and collapsing walls.

"Take mother and leave the city, quickly," he said hastily as soon as they had reached open air, speaking out over the din of the attack. "Use the passageway through the family crypt—you know of it, Claudia, I'm depending on you to lead the way."

His sister nodded, her eyes wide and fearful, but determined all the same. "We'll be waiting for you," she called back to him pointedly, as she and Maria were shunted, carried along with the fleeing crowd. "Stay safe-!" Then all too quickly, both of them were gone from his sight, swallowed up by the mass of people running to safety.

The Assassin stared after them for a split moment, before he shook his head forcefully, reminding himself to focus on the city's defense. He turned to sprint towards the main gate, but was halted by a rather sharp call of his name, and a powerful grip on his arm. Startled, he felt himself jerked backwards a few steps, only to be blinded by an explosion of shrapnel and dust, as a cannonball fell and ground deep into the stones just in front of him.

"Watch yourself,  _nipote_ ," his uncle said harshly from his shoulder, releasing him after he had regained his footing. "I need you to get up onto the walls, and help cover the citizens' escape. I'll be taking my mercenaries out to the front to try to draw their fire."

"But that's too dangerous," he protested, frowning. Though Mario would not admit it, Ezio knew that he was getting on in years, and was little suited to be charging head on into battle. "I can be the one to lead the front assault-"

"You are still recovering, Ezio," the other countered sharply, grasping him firmly by the shoulder and meeting his worried gaze. "There's no time for arguments, just go to the walls and help man the cannons. You cannot allow their siege towers to breach the city."

The eagle gave a reluctant nod, only watching as the elder man hurried down the steps towards the main gate. "Be careful,  _zio_."

"I will."

Ezio turned as well and sprinted off towards the eastern wall, leaping from there onto the rooftops. However, the cannon fire was still heavy, and though he moved to dodge the projectiles to the best of his abilities, it was not long before one shattered through the tiles at his feet, sending him sprawling onto the street below.

He growled as the fall jarred his old injuries, stumbling to his feet and continuing to run, despite knowing that the ladder up onto the walls was still quite a distance from him. The streets were almost empty now, with most of the people filtering towards the hidden pass on the other side of town, but a sudden shape approaching him caught his eye.

His white stallion gave a piercing whinny as it loped towards him, running alongside him as he only stared at it a moment, startled that it had come for him. The beast had a timely arrival, as usual, it seemed. Nimbly, he leapt onto its saddle, seizing the fluttering reins and digging his heels into the horse's heaving flanks. Together, they shot off towards the battlements, now quite alone in the war-stricken side streets.

He left his horse at the base of the city wall, behind the cover of the local mercenary guild where it would be largely sheltered from the attack. As he swiftly pulled himself hand over hand up the ladder leading to the peak, he could not help but glance back to the western edge of Monteriggioni, searching for the entrance to the crypt, through which he knew his family and the rest of the populace were fleeing.

However, just as he caught sight of the Auditore crest painted across the solid wood door, a new barrage of cannonballs impacted it, strewing planks and rubble in its wake. The cries of the townsmen, whose bodies or kin had been crushed, could be heard clear across to him, and he hesitated, wondering fearfully if his mother and sister had been able to slip past.

Snarling aloud in frustration and pushing his family from his mind, he continued to climb, knowing that if he could not hold back the invaders, they definitely would be lost. From the watchtower he was climbing, he could see clearly over to the south wall, to the tangle of battle that was taking place at its base.

Several mercenaries called out to him as he scrambled over the lip of the wall, gesturing him over to join the line of cannons. He complied and ducked several cross bow hafts that clattered the stones about him, seizing onto one the mechanisms and ordering a man to load it.

Their return fire was vicious, cutting through the beams of several of the siege towers rolling towards them, yet still there were too many. At either side of him, Ezio could hear the sounds of men in panic, or in pain as they bled and thrashed, but worst were those who no longer made any sound, most crushed or mangled beyond recognition from the enemy assault. The noise was terrible, and all he could think of was causing as much harm as he could to the ones responsible.

"The north wall! They've reached the north wall!"

The Assassin turned sharply at the alarmed cry, just in time to see the siege tower lock upon the battlements on the other side of the watchtower he had climbed, the flood of enemies it released beginning to tear through their line of defense. Releasing the cannon he held, he sprinted off towards them without a second thought, drawing his rapier and setting his eagle upon them with a blood lusting ferocity.

He forcefully shouldered the first guard he came upon before the man could realize his presence, knocking him bodily against and over the parapets, and hearing him yell as he plummeted to the ground. Ezio leapt forward a few steps, and stabbed into another's back, plunging the blade cleanly through spine and lung.

At this point, the enemy detachment caught sight of him, and he found that he was more than happy to meet their advance. He whirled around to the left, tearing through a soldier's throat, first with hidden blade then sword edge, and staining the ground with a spurt of blood. Another sword came at his face, and he leaned back, just enough to dodge the singing blade, before countering by driving his rapier up through the man's chin.

As he pushed further into the midst of his enemies, a heavily armored guard with a battleaxe swung at him abruptly, and though he caught the edge before it dug into his shoulder, the power of the blow drove him painfully down onto one knee. His arm shook with the effort, and he threw a curse at the soldier as he twisted sharply to one side, slipping past the deflected blade as it dug instead into the ground, and burying a shot of poison into the enemy's flank.

The staggered, confused man took down three of his allies before he fell to the floor himself, and the Assassin swiftly took advantage of the opening he had left, cutting deeply into flesh left and right, and kicking men forcefully to the ground as they clutched at their wounds.

His eagle screamed out, incited by the scent of blood and powder and fire, yet Ezio found he could barely hold his ground. Another siege tower had clamped onto the wall as he struggled to drive off this one, and another, fresh stream of enemies was coming for him. However, this was not the worst of it, as suddenly the ground shook, the entire length of the wall trembling from an explosion that engulfed the city gate in embers and smoke.

Though he realized the danger, he could not help but stop and stare as the fortified door of Monteriggioni's main gate collapsed, allowing in a small group of people, who entered amongst the dust and debris. A soldier at their front threw a man down onto the street, and even with the distance, the Assassin could clearly see the deep slash across his uncle's back, Mario stirring with difficulty as he tried to regain his feet.

There was no hesitation as Ezio sheathed his rapier and threw himself from the battlements, hitting the cratered rooftops with a roll before breaking into a sprint. As he ran, his narrowed gaze fell upon a man in a cape and gleaming armor who was striding leisurely towards the fallen Assassin. His eagle's eyes did not lie, and he knew without a doubt that this man was the  _comandante_.

"Ezio Auditore! Come, I know you are in here somewhere," the Templar called out easily to the hollow city, glancing around for him. "You left the fortress so quickly yesterday that we did not get a chance to meet."

The noblemen felt he had never run so swiftly in his life, but still the distance between him and the cluster of enemies was infuriatingly stretched, well out of his range. Moving thus, his focus so narrowed, so riveted upon his uncle, he failed to detect the line of red on the battlements behind him, their attention fixed upon his flying form. Neither did he notice the flicker of a blue aura detaching itself from the crowd by the gate to hurry towards him.

"Still, I'm sure you understand that I cannot allow you and your kind to live," the commander continued to speak into the air, unhurried, taking a weapon from one of his soldiers that the Assassin quickly recognized as a rifle. "Though do not think of this as murder, but merely, a cleansing." Mario said nothing as the barrel was pressed to his head, slowly glancing up to look somberly in Ezio's direction.

The eagle was only feet away when he saw the Templar's self-satisfied smirk, heard the whirr of the wheel-lock mechanism, and then it was too late. The shot that rang out seemed to pierce his own heart, and he froze helplessly, balanced on the edge of a rooftop, his eyes wide. The cry for his uncle, half-formed, never left his throat when, abruptly, the agony of his spirit seemed to spread into his shoulder.

The second gunshot from behind him finally reached his ears, but he was already falling, lashed viciously from his perch by an arquebusier. He grunted as he smashed first through the wood railing of a balcony, then against the stone street, his vision flaring then dimming as he, momentarily, blacked out.

However, by sheer force of will, by the strong surge of rage and sorrow, he managed to regain his senses, snarling furiously as he clutched at his heavily bleeding shoulder. The crimson life was spilling thickly down his back and sleeve, leaking into the hidden blade's mechanisms, but he blatantly ignored it, unable to forget the mocking smile of the man who had taken his uncle, had taken his very home, from him.

He lurched unsteadily to his feet, breaking into a blind run towards the end of the side street he had fallen into, intent on rounding the building that was blocking him from sight of his target. His left arm ached tremendously, but this only served to stoke his anger further, and he found that all he desired was Templar blood. However, just before he turned the corner, a warm body collided with him, arms wrapping about his chest and forcing him back into the alley.

"Don't, Ezio," Leonardo hissed sharply, holding him back with surprising strength as the Assassin recognized him, but thrashed violently nonetheless, fighting to break free.

"Let me go, Leonardo-!" he all but screamed, his teeth bared ferally, and his eyes blazing dangerously in the artist's direction. "I'll kill him—I swear, _I'll kill him_!"

"I know how you must be feeling,  _amico mio_ , and I'm sorry, but you can't go after him, not now," Leonardo cried out urgently, gasping from his efforts to restrain the wildly struggling eagle. "Realize your condition-! Your scapula is shattered and you're losing a lot of blood, I doubt you can even raise your arm, much less use your blade! You will not get anywhere near Cesare before they kill you."

"That doesn't matter," the Assassin forced out, past gritted teeth, realizing the dizziness starting to weigh against his thoughts and sight. He shook his head stubbornly and finally shoved his friend away, only now realizing that his eyes were stinging from the pain, from the twisted whirl of emotions. "If I die, I will at least take that  _figlio di puttana_  with me."

"What, so you  _wish_  for death?" the artist demanded, his blue eyes hard and determined as he snatched onto the nobleman's sleeve, obstinately dragging him to a halt again. "You are the last of your line, Ezio, the last who can carry on your family's name. Do you really want the Borgia to be remembered as the ones who wiped your bloodline from existence?"

"I…" Ezio faltered, grasping at empty words, his head throbbing from the lack of blood and the storm of inner turmoil.

"You must live,  _amico mio_ , for all of us. Still so many depend on you."

The Assassin was silent, his fists clenched and his gaze dropped, tremors running through his body as he heard—but disliked—the reason in his friend's insistent words.

A nickering sounded out from the mouth of the side street, and both men turned in alarm, only to see the white stallion approaching, its pale coat stark against the burnt, ash-stained stones of the nearby buildings. It paced closer, pushing a gentle, concerned nose against Ezio's injured shoulder; and at a pointed look from Leonardo, the nobleman hesitantly climbed into the saddle. "But my uncle-"

"His body will be taken care of, I promise," the artist said, meeting his eyes solemnly. "Now go, please, before the Templars change their mind about leaving you for dead."

The Assassin looked down at him a moment, his gaze shadowed, before uttering quietly, " _Addio, amico_."

The loud clatter of hooves on the paved streets drowned out any more room for words, and Ezio leaned low into the saddle as he headed back into the devastated city, intent on following the villagers through the crypt. It was silent now, he realized, guessing that he had passed out for longer than he had thought. All that remained—the last, bare traces of life left to rattle the shell of a city—were his grating breath, and the hollow resonance of his horse's steps.

His home no longer, the sight of Monteriggioni's shattered walls and broken buildings only served to weigh his heart with an echo of distant loss; ruins they were, thus like ruins he left them, and the eagle took flight without a backward glance.

Ending.


End file.
